Bad Seed
by DundieAllStar
Summary: After meeting a stranger, Peeta evaluates his life of turmoil and the people in it as he decides what kind of man he wants to be. Peeta/Finnick Modern AU **Chapter 21: Special Two**
1. Butterflies

**Hi.**

Peeta / Finnick story, set in modern time AU. Please read and review. Constructive critisism is always welcome, just do me a favour and don't complain about the subject matter, or the choice of character pairings. You knew what this was. Thanks!

* * *

Peeta Malark stood outside the dank looking bar, a small smirk crept along his lips as he noted how easy it looked to get away with what he wanted to get away with, and even though it seemed like a sure thing, he took another deep, nervous drag of his cigarette as the creeping feelings of fear and uncertainty rumbled in the pit of his stomach. He'd been caught without an ID here before, but only once. Maybe he'd get away with it this time, he'd been turned down from almost every other place that night, and was kicked out of the other by a bouncer who thought he was looking for trouble.

It hadn't exactly been his night. His buzz was already starting to wear off. He could feel the scotch swilled earlier already burning off, causing the dread of overwhelming reality to settle back in, something he felt the need to numb that night. God, how he wanted to forget for one night.

The flickering red neon light that illuminated the word _'HOB'_ provided him with enough light to examine himself in the reflection of the window. His dirty blonde hair was combed back neatly, the bangs out of his face. He certainly looked older than his age, perhaps it was merely wishful thinking. His black coat provided him with an edge, but most of all, it was the tell tale signs of insomnia that would probably make him look old enough to get a few rounds into him that night. The sleepless nights over the last few weeks had resulted with him being forced to wear dark circles underneath his eyes. He shrugged, taking another drag and turning away from his reflection. He hadn't slept a decent night since Cato stopped calling.

He didn't understand what the hell even happened. Weren't they happy? They had their problems, sure, but to just stop calling, to just completely cut him out-

He snapped himself out of it. He was so sick of constantly thinking about it. Couldn't he just have one exhausting day, followed by another crappy night of drinking and laying awake in bed all night, without thinking about _him._

A clap of thunder emerged from the sky, followed by a steady flow of rain only seconds later. Peeta scoffed to himself and took a final drag of his cigarette as the ember burned down to the butt. The feeling of nicotine flourishing through his system wasn't enough though. It was as if the city itself could sense the darkness and loathing he channelled into the world, ever since the day someone he once loved left without saying goodbye. Ever since he realized, he may never be happy.

The music inside the bar was obnoxiously loud. A frown immediately appeared on his face as he made his way over to the bar in the back. It was just after midnight, there weren't as many people left. Peeta smiled to himself as he made his way over to bar, pulling up a stool, maybe he could indulge in the closest thing to a quiet night in a week.

"Can I get a beer?" he asked, staring at the rings and beer stained coasters along the bar. Without paying attention, a frosted amber bottle appeared in front of him. He smiled slightly, "And a whisky." His mind involuntarily turned to Cato as he waited for his drink and started on his beer. Quick flashes played in his mind. Cato placing kisses on his bare back, using his tongue to trace a line, stealing a kiss over the counter at the bakery - when he was sure no one was watching, laying his own head in Cato's lap as they shared a bottle of whisky on top of the water tower at 3am. His laugh. His touch. His smell. His eyes…

"Fuck him," he mumbled, channelling the full force of his fury to the palm of his hand. He squeezed the amber bottle so tightly he felt he could probably smash it in his hand.

A small glass half filled with whisky appeared before him, snapping him back to reality. He pulled out the remainder of his cash and set it on the bar, leaving him with enough for one beer. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to drink away his pain.

As he brought the bottle to his mouth, Peeta noticed something in the mirror directly opposite him behind the bar. He could almost instantly feel the fear rise in the pit of his stomach as he noticed the older man staring at him through the reflection.

Although he didn't want to admit it to himself, he felt intimidated - for so many reasons, but mainly because the man was staring at him with an intense seriousness that he didn't understand. He certainly hadn't done anything to provoke this. His eyes looked almost black. Peeta was certain this would not lead to anything good. Never one to cower away, he slowly swivelled around in his bar stool, staring daggers through the strange man.

He smirked.

The reaction was slightly surprising, then again, he didn't really know what to make of the whole situation. Peeta couldn't help but admire his features, his mind quickly ran a scan of the man in those few confusing seconds. Thick bronze hair was well sculpted and styled in a seemingly effortless looking way. His arms were well toned. Even in the darkness of the poorly lit bar, his beauty shone. The man rose to his feet and retrieved the jacket from his chair. Within seconds he was gone. Peeta took a deep breath and threw back his glass of whisky, wincing at the feeling of the poison burning his throat. As the intimidation washed away, it was quickly replaced with the craving of nicotine.

Outside, the rain came pouring down harder than it did in the brief time he was inside. As Peeta lit his cigarette, he couldn't help noticing the way the streets and sidewalks covered in water made the reflections of the traffic lights look like the streets were bleeding. He shut his eyes as he remembered Cato kissing him in the rain, in the moonlight, something like panicked, desperate and insatiable. Taking another drag, he reminded himself it was in the past.

"Can I bum one of those?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

Peeta spun around, already a little anxious and always prone to jumping at an unexpected sound. He turned to see the handsome stranger who he'd caught the attention of, only moments ago. He gaped for a second, still finding him intimidating, but quickly relaxed when the man let out a chuckle. "Sure," he said, reaching his arm out to offer a cigarette and lighter from the red packet, while attempting an indifferent shrug to compose himself.

The man lit up and took a drag, nodding politely before letting out a laugh, "Sorry. I didn't mean to creep you out."

The comment made Peeta smile, so did the beer which finally started to kick in. "What's your name?"

"Finnick," he said simply.

"Peeta," he replied with a nod as he reached his hand out in greeting. "Why were you looking at me?"

The man smiled a little wider, "I was wondering what a kid like you was doing in a shit hole like this."

His attention remained firmly on Peeta as if he was studying his every action and reaction in an attempt to figure him out. Why? Peeta had no idea.

"Did you just get your ass kicked?" The older man asked with a cocky smirk.

"Don't let the appearance fool you," Peeta replied, "I just needed a strong drink."

"Well…" He took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the rain, "I'm buying, if you're interested."

* * *

Peeta couldn't help but wonder if Finnick knew he was underage as the man returned to the table, setting down two glasses on each side and placing a large bottle of scotch in the centre.

"It's wet as Nam out there." He nodded at the window. Finnick turned to observe the rain pouring even harder, if it were even possible.

"It's just rain," Finnick said with a shrug. He reached forward to fill up Peeta's glass. "Try being without it for months at a time."

"Thanks," he said as the older man slid the glass into his hands. "Where did it stop raining for months?"

"Iraq," he replied, filling his own glass.

Peeta was surprised. "You're a soldier?"

"Not anymore," Finnick replied with a tilt of his glass, "I came back six months ago. It's really not as exciting as it looks on TV."

"Too bad," Peeta said, he took another sip of the scotch. It wasn't what he was used to. Richer and stronger, he could tell it was more expensive than the swill he could usually afford. He looked into Finnick's eyes and noted how his bronze hair brought out his green eyes. "So what do you do now?"

Finnick smiled slyly and leaned back in his seat, "Now? You might call me a humble fisherman who sells IT equipment to earn an income."

The younger man refilled his glass himself, "I guess bringing democracy to a foreign country really isn't that exciting."

"There's more to the story than that. Maybe I'll tell you some time." Finnick sat up and leaned in. His hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle while his other hand started ripping at the label. "Please don't tell me I just bought booze for a high school senior."

Peeta snorted into his glass, "No, man. I'm not that young."

"I gather you're still underage though. You got your free drink," Finnick said with a wink and a false look of remorse, pulling the bottle back to his side of the table. "What do you do?"

Peeta didn't like talking about himself, especially to strangers. Everytime he'd let someone into his life it was almost like they didn't like what they saw and decided to leave. But Finnick didn't ask about his dead parents, or the brother who was once his best friend and now his sworn enemy. He didn't ask about the love who broke his heart. He asked what he did, and what he did was bake. He had the best job in the world.

"Have you ever been to Abernathy Bakery? Over on Perry street?" he asked, hearing his own voice grow a little louder.

Finnick was quiet for a moment and looked up at the ceiling as if he was really trying to place this location in his head. He snapped back and smiled, "The place on the corner?"

He shot a pretend gun with his thumb and index finger, "I'm a baker there. Have you ever been?"

"Can't say that I have," Finnick says as he fills the two glasses again, "But I'll be sure to check it out some time."

Peeta smiled, "Try the sunflower triangles with nuts. They're my specialty." He could hear the lilt in his voice which only occurred when he spoke about something that really made him happy. "Not to brag, but I make pretty badass pastries too."

Finnick couldn't help but let out a laugh at that.

* * *

The rain had slowed into a drizzle an hour later when the two finally emerged, both pretty buzzed.

"Let me get you a taxi," Finnick said, fishing through his jacket and retrieving his phone.

Peeta didn't want the man to call him a taxi, he wanted to go home with him. That's what he thought the night was leading to anyway. Feeling rejected, he shook his head, "No, it's okay. I can walk, it's not too far." He could only hope his disappointment wouldn't register.

Even though he knew it wasn't leading anywhere, he didn't want this to be the last time he saw the man. The entire night had been almost therapeutic because ever since Finnick started talking to him he'd been able to turn his brain off for an hour and stop thinking about all the crap that was really starting to take a toll.

He sucked in a big breath, "I want to do this again," Peeta blurted, feeling the shame burn his face as the desperation in his voice started to replay in his mind.

Finnick looked at him for a second, "Yeah, sure," he replied with a simple shrug, as if it didn't mean as much, almost as if another encounter was a given and he didn't understand why the younger man was making such a big deal out of it. "I had a good time."

"Me too," he said, almost swooning. He caught himself in time before Finnick noticed. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Thanks for the cigarette," Finnick added as he dialled a taxi. As he gave his name and the address to the operated, he surprised the younger man by casually reaching into his jacket and retrieving the packet of cigarettes. Peeta smiled at the contact and the boldness that went with it. "You're sure you can make it back on your own?"

Peeta nodded silently, "Do you want me to wait with you?"

The man shot him a shit-eating grin, "Why? You worried about me?"

"Totally," he answered as obnoxiously as possible. He lit a cigarette and his mind wandered back to the conversation they had earlier. "Why did you leave the service?"

Finnick closed his eyes and smiled with a nod, knowing the question would raise itself sooner or later, especially given how inquisitive the boy appeared to be. "I took two slugs to the back and almost bled out," he replied as if his experience was the most casual thing in the world, "I figured 25 was too young to die, so when they gave me the chance to go home, I did."

"That sucks." Peeta grasped for words, clearly unknowing what exactly to say to a comment like that. "You're better off though."

Finnick shot him a smile and let him off the hook. "Something like that."

They stood in silence for a second and finished their cigarettes. Peeta took it as his queue to leave. "I better take off. You've got my number right?"

"You put it in my phone, remember?," he said, taking a step closer.

Peeta let out a nervous laugh and reminded himself not to jump to conclusions as he the older man's lips inched closer. His nostrils suddenly filled with the mixed scent of his cologne and the smell of cigarettes and scotch on his breath. His own hand instinctively travelled up to cup the man's jaw as their lips hovered apart.

"You know I'm seven years older than you right?" Finnick muttered. The tips of their noses touched, his forehead resting on Peeta's.

"I don't care," Peeta replied, letting out a hushed gasp when the man pressed his whole body into his own, revealing his heated hardness and rolling his body against it.

"I can tell," Finnick chuckled.

Their lips touched for a few seconds before Peeta's hand fisted the man's jacket and pulled him in closer. As the younger man did what he was supposed to, opened his mouth and wait for a tongue to enter his mouth, Finnick pushed away. Peeta immediately noticed the bright headlights of the taxi beaming on them and breaking the first kiss he'd had in over a month - he wasn't even sure he'd consider those few seconds a kiss.

"Goodnight, Peeta." Finnick ran a hand through his hair and chuckled at the missed opportunity. "I guess we'll try _this_ again sometime."

Embarrassment set in almost immediately, not being helped by the way Finnick chuckled, but he managed a smile and a quick wave of his hand before he made his way into the darkness and tried his best to remember those few seconds he could taste the man's lips. His heart raced, and he couldn't help but wonder if Finnick's was racing too.


	2. Black And Blue

**Author's Note: This chapter features an original character. Let me know what you think. Like it? Hate it? Review please. Thanks.  
**

* * *

Calling what Peeta woke up with the next morning a hangover was an understatement. He'd surprised himself by sleeping for six hours for the first time in weeks. The thoughts were secondary however, to the intense throbbing in his head, exacerbated by the light that shone in through his bedroom window and the smallest movement made by his body. He cursed the sun for emerging that day given the storm the night before.

The bile smell in his throat caught up with his nose and he winced at the intrusion of the offensive odour. He carefully pulled the covers off himself and rose to the door, hoping he wouldn't encounter his brother and be forced to endure what would most definitely be another heated argument filled with intense hostility and abhorrence. There was no doubt to Peeta that Noah had noticed his absence the night before and an argument was the last thing he wanted at that moment.

Peeta had grown to resent his older brother Noah in the months since the death of their parents. Grief had not only become a weapon, but was also destructive to their once impenetrable relationship - which was now a distant memory of a happy family. The brother who had always protected him was now his enemy, now a bitter seed was planted in the younger man, and though he hated to think it, sometimes he wished Noah had died too.

Somehow he made it down the hallway to the bathroom. He stumbled and realized he was still drunk. His head felt like it was see-sawing and spinning, he had to press his bare back against the wooden door and take slow measured breath's to keep himself from vomiting. Now was not a good time to be focussing on all the bullshit he had to ordeal. He could do that at another time. Not now.

When he was sure he could keep it down, he finally dared to close the gap between the door and the shower in three steps. He tugged down his underwear, careful not to move his head, kicking them off before turning on the hot water.

Even the sound of the strong spray of water hitting porcelain was unbearable and felt equivalent to someone bashing his brains in with a stone. He groaned at the obnoxious sound and lifted his leg to climb into the tub. When his other foot lifted off the tile, his head spun, causing him to slip forward. One hand fisted the plastic shower curtain as he fell face first into the tiled wall with an audible thud.

The shower curtain and rod landed on top of him. He lifted his face up from the water and momentarily caught a glimpse of his own blood mixing with the heavy stream. Before he could even react to the intense pain in the arm he landed on, the split eyebrow and the severe throbbing in his head, he heaved and let out a steady flow of vomit as his stomach turned and turned.

Maybe this was rock bottom, he thought for a few moments as he continued to involuntarily dry heave, flop and untangle himself from the various messes he was now in. It all seemed like something out of a cartoon and he wondered how long it would take until he stood on a rake. He kicked the shower rod and curtain off himself and sat under the running hot water spraying from above. He could taste the blood tinged with water on his lips, and the ever present burning sick in the back of his throat.

Peeta gently ran his arms over his chest and shoulders as his eyes shut. He preyed for the pain to subside. He longed for Cato, and wondered why he wasn't there to take his pain away.

"I'm not going to work today," he muttered to himself as he ran his hand up and along his thigh, doing his best to warm himself up even under the steaming water.

When he sat perfectly still and took deep breaths, his stomach settled and his head ceased it's pounding. His cheek and temple stung, his only avenue of distraction was thinking about his encounter with the man he met the night before.

He remembered Finnick's smile, his smell and the kiss they almost shared. Although they only shared a brief moment together, he felt confident they'd share another soon.

For the first time, in a long time, he could hold on to something. The possibility of something to be excited about.

* * *

It took almost an hour to peel himself out of the shower. The pain in his head had somewhat subsided, for which Peeta was incredibly grateful. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, when he noticed the red mark above and around his eye which he knew would swell. He was sure his boss wouldn't appreciate him turning up to work with a another shiner.

He was too sick to walk on eggshells that morning. He made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, passing the family photo that hung proudly on the wall taken the previous mother's day. If he had his way, he'd take the thing down, but it wasn't only his house or his photo. The four people in it were so happy at that time, and to have to look at it day after day, given the events of the past months was a real spear to the chest.

The tidy state of the kitchen was the first thing he noticed, as if nothing had changed, the only piece missing were the fresh flowers his mother would pick from the garden and place in a vase in the centre of the table. Noah had no doubt picked up the bottles he'd carelessly left around and the remaining mess he'd left. He supposed that since now there was no one with any real authority to answer to, he could be as lazy and reckless as he wanted. It felt more fitting to live in squalor. Of course his brother would never accept such moral degradation. Peeta couldn't care less, it was even eight yet, and he'd already trashed the bathroom and laid in his own sick.

He heard footsteps descending the stairs as he impatiently waited for the coffee pot to fill. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as Noah Mellark irately entered the kitchen. They shot each other a look over the counter, Peeta tired and so badly wanting to be left alone, Noah refusing to care. The distinction between the two brothers was apparent, even to him. They resembled each other closely despite the seven year age difference, both with thick blonde hair, deep blue eyes and square jaws, but that morning they had never looked so different.

Noah stood taller, dressed in a finely pressed white shirt, charcoal slacks and black leather shoes in contrast to his younger brother who slumped over the counter with dishevelled hair wearing only his boxers.

"Where were you?" Noah asked impatiently, tapping a finger on the marble counter top and catching his silver watch in a ray of sunlight.

Peeta shrugged indifferently, "Out."

The older brother raised his eyebrows at the flippancy of the answer. "Were you drinking?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," he replied, feeling the bitter seed inside him sprout.

Noah wrinkled his nose, "I guess all I needed to do was smell your breath."

Peeta nodded sarcastically, "Is that all, Dad?"

"No, that's not all." His tone was angry, Peeta could tell he was trying to remain calm, act as the adult, which was all too like him. "Were you getting stoned again?"

He hadn't been, but he deliberately took his time, wanting to test his brother's patience. "No. I was out with a friend."

"Cato." It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement of fact. He shook his head and opened his mouth to rattle off the same speech he'd made about the man in the past.

"I wasn't out with Cato," Peeta snapped. He knew exactly how his brother felt about him and at this stage was prone to lose what little composure he had regarding the subject. He knew Noah's loathing for Cato had nothing to do with their relationship, but the part he played in the disillusion of _their_ relationship. He knew his brother blamed Cato for the things he'd gotten himself involved in since the death of their parents. Hearing his own brother disparage someone he still cared for was something he really couldn't tolerate. "We're not together anymore. I haven't seen or spoken to him in weeks," he said in a lower, tired tone before focusing all his attention on the coffee pot that had finally decided to start brewing.

The older man was silent for moment, observing the hurt and frailty of his younger brother as the words came out. Despite his immense dislike for the young man his brother loved, he couldn't help but feel for him and the heart that had been broken too many times. "What happened? With you two?"

"Jesus," Peeta groaned, "Can we _not_ do this today? I don't need you asking me inane questions I don't even know the answers to, especially when I know you couldn't care less."

Noah was silent for a moment before he set his jaw and continued. "What happened to your eye?"

"I fell."

"Bullshit."

Their blue eyes locked again. Peeta observed the way his nostrils flared as he studied the red mark on his face. He was surprised that his instinct to protect him was still there. He let his guard down and released a deep sigh, "No really. I slipped in the shower an hour ago."

It seemed for the moment, the absurdity of the situation began to set in causing both brothers to grin slightly and appreciate the humour of it all. They lowered their walls for only a brief moment, Peeta studied his brother's body language and immediately recognised him shutting himself back out. "Take another shower before you go to work. You smell like booze and an ashtray," Noah snarled with malice as he turned to walk away.

"I'm not going to work today," he muttered, closing his eyes and wishing his brother would magically disappear along with all his other problems.

"So is this your plan from now on, Peeta?" Noah scoffed, "Getting wasted every night and blowing off work until you get fired? Is this your life now?"

Peeta was silent, not only because he didn't want to talk to his brother, but because he didn't know how to answer. Was this more than a rough patch? he wondered, would he ever heal from this, or just do more damage? He turned away from his brother and ignored the disappointed look on his face.

"Fine," the older man growled, "Do whatever the hell you want. I'm going to work."

* * *

It was a craving that drew him back to the bar that night, but it wasn't one of alcohol. No, Peeta craved the blissful companionship he took part in the night before. He walked hurriedly down the dark streets, intently focussed on his only destination for the evening. He pulled the green hood over his head and buried his cold hands in the warm confines of his pockets. He smiled and fantasized about the sweet physical contact he wanted to make with his new friend and the firmness of his flesh.

Loud music filled his ears once again as he entered the bar and made his way through to the back. The sweet smell of alcohol filled his nose and he deeply inhaled the aroma in the air. He took a quick scan of the room and immediately spotted the tall man sitting at the bar. He sat staring into his glass, Peeta couldn't help but admire him and his beauty. He wore a pressed grey shirt with a black blazer. Classy, elegant and beautiful.

It took all the courage he could muster, but Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and gingerly approached the older man at the end of the bar. It wasn't until their eyes met that Peeta felt his heart start to race again.

"Who gave you the shiner?" Finnick asked with a smirk, inspecting his face for only a brief moment before returning his attention to his glass.

Peeta smirked and leaned over the bar, "Drunken mishap."

"I suppose I'm partly to blame," he replied with a sigh, "I wonder what your parents think of an older guy pouring drinks into their son."

"Doesn't really matter," Peeta replied, trying his best to remain evasive without raising any red flags that would lead to further discussion on the subject. "Are you meeting someone?"

"No. Am I giving off the longing for companionship vibe?" Finnick asked, the corner of his lips forming a small smile. "Why do you ask?"

"You look good, well for someone sitting in a dive at this hour." He felt the blush rise lightly into his cheeks and he hoped he didn't come off too forward. "I just figured you were on a date."

The older man nodded slowly and laughed into his drink, "You asking me out?"

"I don't really know," he admitted. It was true. His intimidation were stirring up word vomit.

Finnick was clearly amused by the boy's nervous candour but for whatever reason refused to throw him a lifeline. "Well, I had your number burning a hole in my phone."

Peeta hesitated for a moment and sat on the stool next to him. "Would you have called if I didn't turn up?"

"I figured I didn't really need it. I knew you'd show your face around here again." He took another sip of his drink and leaned in closer, "I just didn't think it'd be all black and blue." He smiled and stared at the bar, holding his glass in one hand by the rim.

Peeta watched him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He found himself temporarily lost in his own thoughts, and the way Finnick looked in the dim light of the bar. The most beautiful person in the room.

"You sure you're okay?" Finnick asked after a beat, meeting his eyes again and narrowing his sights on the swelling beneath his eye. "Did that happen last night? On your way home?"

He was surprised by the question, he certainly didn't expect to garner any sympathy from his bathroom war wound, but it was flattering just the same. He let out a quick laugh and smiled warmly, if only to reassure him his wound was one of clumsiness and not aggravated assault. "I was pretty hung over this morning, you'd think I was adjusting to a prosthetic leg by the way I fell into shower wall."

"Well," Finnick remarked as he finished his drink, "I guess I'm going to have to make sure you stay dry as a bone tonight. I wouldn't want my bad judgement resulting in any further injury."

"Fair enough." He inched closer, summoning any remaining courage and casually ran his fingertips along the man's knee. "You wanna get out of here?"

Finnick pursed his lips in thought for a few moments before nodding. A sly smile appeared across his lips, "Yeah okay. I'll walk you home."

He rose to his feet and pulled a few notes out of his wallet. Leaving them on the bar, he made it half way across the room before Peeta could even react. He was completely dumbfounded. Apparently he'd been too subtle and Finnick needed things spelt out more clearly.

He hurriedly chased Finnick out to the street, still confused and slightly disappointed that the hope of implied sex had gone out the window. But Finnick seemed undeterred and walked up the dead street at a fast pace, forcing Peeta to chase him on his heels quickly.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Peeta blurted from behind, confused and scratching his head. "I was asking-"

"-I know what you were asking, Peeta," Finnick responded smugly, "But it's late and I don't want you to get your ass kicked." They reached the intersection at the end of the street. "Left or right?"

"…Left," Peeta replied breathlessly as they continued to walk. "I didn't get my ass kicked," he said defensively.

He chuckled, "So you said."

"So why are you walking me home? I'm not ready to go home yet."

"Won't you miss your curfew?"

He shook his head in a mixture of confusion and disbelief, "You're not that much older than me. Christ, I'm not twelve." They came to a stop. He sighed, still unsure of exactly what was happening.

"Then stop throwing a tantrum and let me walk you home," Finnick replied almost curtly, smiling dashingly for good balance.

Peeta sighed and continued walking, smiling despite himself when he felt the back of Finnick's hand brush against the small of his back.

They walked for another twenty minutes, during which time Peeta spoke about his work and filled Finnick in on his recipe to vanilla macadamia cookies, and how it took him two weeks to master just one perfect cookie, much to the older man's amusement. For his part, Finnick recalled a particularly hilarious story involving himself and his fellow troops, tequila shots and a camel in the middle of an Iranian desert.

When they finally reached their destination, Peeta realized that maybe the alternative to his plans was almost as enjoyable as his original intentions.

"Here it is," Peeta sighed, indicating his house as they stood by the letterbox on the sidewalk.

"Nice place." Finnick quietly observed the modest, two story family home, which in the darkness of night looked almost identical to every other house surrounding it in the upper middle class neighbourhood, except for the large oak tree they stood in front of. "Which one is your room?"

Peeta chuckled and pointed to the window on top floor to the far left, "My jail cell." He put his hands in his pockets and took a step closer to the taller man, preparing to kiss him. "I thought something was going to happen tonight."

"What? That I'd take you back to my place and we'd fuck around?" Finnick looked at his shoes for a moment before meeting Peeta's gaze again. He noticed the desperation for a serious answer.

Peeta shrugged, "I thought that was where this was heading. Tell me this whole attraction isn't in my head."

Finnick took a step closer and closed the bridge between them. He leaned in gently, the tips of their noses touched for a moment, their lips hovered over each other's, "It's not in your head."

He pressed their lips together. Peeta immediately grasped the man's shirt and pulled him into his grasp tightly so as to make sure he couldn't escape the kiss again. Finnick too, pulled the younger man into his chest by his shoulders as both sets of lips opened and tongues gracefully entered the warm confines of their respective mouths.

The taste of alcohol on Finnick only served to make the kiss more pleasurable, Peeta thought he could get drunk right off that. He groaned deeply into the man's mouth as he felt the hidden hardness in the man's pants press against his thigh. It was only the desperate need for air that forced him to break their kiss. Peeta didn't remove his hands.

"Come up to my room," he whispered fervidly into his lips as he stole another quick, desperate kiss. He grasped Finnick's wrist and manoeuvred it down to his own crotch. He groaned into his mouth again as he felt the man grasp him tightly through his pants. "Don't you want to?" he mumbled.

"You have no fucking idea." Finnick pulled his swollen lips away but left his hand right where it was, in the warmness of the younger man's crotch. He continued to massage while pressing his forehead against Peeta's. "But not tonight."

"Why the fuck not?" Peeta gasped, lost somewhere between ecstasy and frustration.

"Because I'm not about to take a walk of shame."

"We can go behind the house, or in my car," he whispered harshly, clinging tightly to the man, feeling the curve and tautness of his muscular arms.

"I don't think so." Finnick removed his hand, much to the disappointment of the younger man, who let out a frustrated groan. "Call it the thrill of the chase, Peeta," he chuckled, moving in for another kiss, this time opting to rest his hand on the smaller man's ass.

They parted again a few moments, resting their foreheads together and sharing the same air as they panted breathlessly.

"When will I see you next?" Peeta asked, taking ragged breathes.

"Same time, same place, Saturday night." He released his grip on the younger man and straightened himself out. "Goodnight, Peeta."

Peeta let out a flushed laugh as the older man backed away slowly with a smile. "I'll see you then."

"Good," Finnick replied, "Don't get too messed up."

He leaned against the oak tree and watched his new friend travel back down the street. His knees almost buckled, he was surprised to see the effects of smoking taking their toll as he was still out of breath. He was desperately hard and the intent to relieve himself was the only incentive that made him stagger to his front door.

He smiled to himself as he walked inside quietly. He hadn't even realized that he'd gone the whole day without drinking. Peeta knew he'd sleep soundly that night.


	3. The Art Of Seduction

**Author's Note: I just wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who left a review. Feedback is always appreciated and I'm sure like most writers, they always provide inspiration to continue.**

**I would like to add that I have fleshed out an arc that should span over the next six or seven chapters. I feel really good about it, and I'm sure you will really enjoy it. I'm having a blast writing this story. I will have the next chapter up shortly.  
**

**Thanks to you all. I hope you enjoy.  
**

**I would also like to warn that this chapter contains explicit content.  
**

* * *

Finnick wiped his hand across the steamed up mirror in his bathroom as he ran a towel through his locks. His eyes immediately focused on the figure lying in the bed behind him forcing him to smirk to himself.

He reached for the can of shaving cream on the counter top, extracted a healthy dollop, and began lathering his warm face with it. As he brought the razor to his jaw line and began swiftly shaving his neck, the events that transpired the night before started to appear less cloudy in his memory.

He remembered a pair of long legs dangling gracefully from a bar stool, tracing them down all the way to the black stilettos at the end. He'd seen her there before, only this time she was alone. When he approached her, she seemed flustered, almost too shy to talk to him. She was clearly taken by his charm and class. It only took twenty minutes to persuade her to come home with him, and a further ten to have her undress.

Splashing warm water on his face, he wiped himself down and made his way back to the bedroom to dress for work where he was faced with the uncomfortable task of waking the woman who's name he couldn't remember, and asking her to leave.

He would promise to call her. He'd made that promise several times before. Just like the other times, he had no real intention of keeping his word.

* * *

The temperature had dropped over the past week but Finnick didn't mind. After being stationed in a desert for over a year, cold weather was something he had begun looking forward to. Winter was approaching quickly, he was excited to see the streets littered with snow.

He pulled the front door to his apartment building closed behind him, avoiding the dirty looks of his elderly neighbour on the first floor who had no doubt caught the young woman who had only made her exit fifteen minutes earlier. Given the amount of people who continually crossed the threshold of his building on a weekly basis, he knew his neighbours opinion of him couldn't be very good, not that he cared.

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't had a chance to eat a proper breakfast after another late night. He checked his watch and was revealed to realize he had some free time before work started, 54 minutes to be precise. An idea occurred to him, he was surprised that he had remembered a certain bakery that was mentioned to him days earlier upon meeting a younger man who had wormed his way into his thoughts on more than one occasion that week.

Finnick crossed the street before walking four blocks in the opposite direction of where he needed to be heading. The smell of fresh baked bread lingered in the air as he turned the corner of the block. The bakery was unmistakable and stood out amongst the classic brownstone buildings it was surrounded by. A blonde man in his mid forties, who he assumed was the owner stood outside sweeping away the last of the Autumn leaves. He wondered if Peeta was inside, and if his self-proclaimed culinary skills were the cause behind the sweet scent that filled the street.

He checked his watch again as he made his way closer to the bakery.

"Finnick?" A familiar voice called.

Taken by surprise, he quickly turned and was greeted by Peeta's warm and already familiar smile. He sat on a plastic milk crate in the alley behind the shop before gingerly rising up and walking closer to him. The smell of bread was quickly replaced with that of second hand smoke, a smell which to Finnick, seemed more intoxicating.

"What are you doing here?" The young man asked with a chuckle.

His heart still racing, he ran a hand through his dark bronze hair and laughed almost nervously at the fright he was just given. "I needed some breakfast. I've heard good things about this place."

Peeta bit back a smile and poked his head from behind the grey stone, watching the man with the broom before taking Finnick by the arm gently and moving a couple of feet back into the alley that provided seclusion from the quiet street.

"Sorry. I don't want my boss to find me sneaking a cigarette," he said with a laugh as he took another quick drag and his attention returned to his visitor. "He's kind of been busting my ass lately, not that I haven't given him cause to."

Finnick nodded, taking a step closer and admiring the way the sun caught the blonde locks, "Maybe you should spend less time in bars with handsome older men."

Peeta shrugged and smiled. His white shirt and blue jeans already dusted with flour marks. He took a step closer to the older man, "Did you come here to see me?"

"I came for the coffee."

"Our coffee sucks."

"So I don't suppose you want to get one with me?" he asked, eyeing the milky white skin around his neck. "I've got about half an hour before work."

Peeta paused for a moment, considering the offer before reluctantly shaking his head. "I really want to, but I better head in. My brother will kill me if I get fired." He dropped the cigarette and put it out with his foot.

"That's too bad." Finnick reached his hand out to brush away the few stay hairs that hung over his forehead, his thumb gently brushed against the faded bruise below his right eye. "I better let you go back in and knead some dough."

The younger man let out a deep breath as if he'd been holding it in since he arrived. "Yeah, I should get in there," he mumbled, pressing his body into the taller frame with no intention of going anywhere.

His hand involuntarily rested on the smaller man's hip, gently pushing him into the brick wall, he leaned in. "Aren't you worried the bread will burn?" he asked with a smirk.

Peeta chuckled, his lips inched closer to Finnick's, a small breath of air issued from his throat as a large hand fingered the waist of his jeans. His own hand rested on the man's cheek. "Are we still on for tomorrow night?" he asked gently as their lips hovered and the seduction continued.

"I'll meet you at nine," Finnick mumbled fervidly as he pressed his lips to Peeta's, discovering a taste and scent better than bread or cigarettes. His lips parted for only a moment, "You have no idea how much I want you."

Both of Peeta's hands travelled to curl in the taller man's hair as his body involuntarily bucked into him. He quickly became lost in his senses, now consumed with Finnick, his warmth and his taste. His hands travelled down, finding the firm torso and grasping the strong body. Finnick continued kissing him, gently at first before rapidly picking up the pace. He held Peeta tightly in place, pressing his kisses with determination and force, completely careless of anything else in the world besides him and his lips.

"Fuck it," Peeta hissed as the man's hand worked it's way underneath his shirt, fingers brushed against the soft skin. "Ten minutes won't make any difference."

* * *

Peeta sat on the warm hood of his car. A 1970 Dodge Charger. He'd known the engine had been failing him lately. Had his father still been alive they would have set to work to replace it, it was the last job the car needed after months of restoration. After the demise of his parents, Peeta didn't really see the point in restoring the old car and had simply decided to let it die with all their hard work. The once treasured car now just reminded him of ghosts, treasured memories and feelings he now thought lost and irretrievable.

Another ten minutes had passed waiting for Noah to collect him, he began to wonder how long he would wait before he would start walking. He also needed to decide what to do with the car now. He certainly couldn't leave it by the side of the road indefinitely. He supposed he would sell it. He would get next to nothing of value for it without a working engine. He didn't care. It was just further superfluous baggage he didn't need or want. He figured he would purchase a new car with some of the money left to him in his parent's will. He still hadn't touched the money and had decided to let it gain interest, it seemed like it was the only sensible decision he had made in the last few months.

Noah's car pulled up on the side of the road shortly after. Peeta grabbed his apron and bag and climbed into the passenger seat. They had barely spoken to each other in days, which wasn't uncommon anymore. Within seconds of stepping into the car, the awkward silence was deafening.

"Put your seatbelt on," Noah mumbled as he turned the car back onto the road.

Peeta stilled at the instruction for a moment before complying without argument. He wasn't sure if his brother would have instructed him to do so had their parents not been killed in a head on collision. "Seatbelts don't do too much good when you're ploughed into by a truck."

"That's not funny, Peeta," his brother said sharply, turning his attention away from the road for only a few seconds to stare at him warningly.

He didn't find it funny either. He wasn't even too sure why he said it. He had resented what he had turned into. A bitter, unhappy shell of the person he once was. There was no doubt in his mind that he was the cause of the antagonistic relationship with Noah. Suddenly a thought occurred and his mind quickly returned to the man he was still unable to fall out of love with.

He was the reason Cato stopped calling, why he hadn't spoken to him in a month. He drove him away with his recklessness and indifference.

"It's okay, Peeta," Noah said, his tone assuring, snapping him straight out of his own thoughts and into the present.

"W-What?" Peeta muttered, staring at his flour crusted shoes, his mouth gaping at the revelation.

Once again Noah looked away from the road at him, quickly looking back and forth between the two, sure not to look away from the road for more than a second. "Your car. We'll get it towed and shop around for a new engine. I know it was something you and dad-"

"-I don't want that car anymore," He blurted, almost disgusted that his brother would suggest such a thing. He could feel the anger rising back up within himself. He didn't want it. He never wanted it. He didn't even know he had it in him to be this vile. "If you love the fucking thing so much why don't you take it?"

He immediately regretted the words the second they came from his mouth, but there was no taking them back, and he definitely couldn't take back the hurt he'd just inflicted on his brother. The tell tale signs of hurt registered all over Noah's face. He couldn't do anything but shut his mouth, and ignore it. There was no use in doing anything besides standing by the words he hated saying.

Noah flexed the steering wheel and stopped the car at a set of lights. "I don't want to do this anymore." he muttered, vague as ever.

"Do what?" Peeta mumbled, staring out the passenger window, trying his best not to make eye contact.

"I don't want to live with you anymore. I want to get my own place again," He said in a scathing tone, "The only reason I haven't sold the house is because I needed to take care of you and now I don't recognise you, I don't even know who the hell you are anymore.

Peeta couldn't blame him for feeling that way, but a small part of him did, the small part of him that still needed his older brother to look after him, take care of him the way he used to before he drove him away. He twisted his face, making sure he was turned away so the older man couldn't see the pain. Despite how he hated hearing his confession, he still couldn't bring himself to admit fault and face surrender, knowing he was only digging a deeper grave for himself.

He took a few measured breaths and made sure his voice wasn't about to crack before he continued with his onslaught. "Go wherever you want. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah," Noah scoffed, "I'll believe that when I don't have to pick you up from the police station strung out of your mind, or pour you into bed when you've passed out on the front lawn."

Peeta felt a few tears rise to his eyes. He shut them tightly and refused to let them fall, finding it harder and harder as they drove on in complete silence.

* * *

It was not the first time he'd gone home with someone he picked up at a bar before. But it was the first time he'd felt so nervous. Peeta held two fingers up to his neck, his pulse was beating furiously. He took the same seat at the end of the bar, carefully studying the reflection behind the counter for any sign of Finnick.

He checked his watch again. Finnick was ten minutes late. Was he still going to show? Peeta grew more anxious with each passing minute. His heart sunk at the possibility that Finnick had stood him up.

Wanting to make the night special, he'd gone to a lot of effort to make himself presentable. A white shirt with a sharp black tie along with a black waistcoat for good measure. He felt stupid and overdressed, like a little boy the day of his school photo.

He decided to wait outside and have a cigarette. His nerves were shot, and he wanted to feel the sweet bliss of nicotine run through him and slow his mind down from the endless bombardment of frustrations that stormed through his head. He spun around in his seat and moved for the exit. He kept his head down as he fished through his pocket looking for his pack of Capitol Red's when he bumped into someone.

"Sorry I'm late," Finnick said, his dashing smile already making the smaller man blush. "You weren't taking off already were you?"

Peeta smiled and instantly felt relieved, "No. I was just going out for a smoke. You want to come?"

The older man looked as suave as ever in his red shirt and matching black tie and jacket. He shrugged, "Actually, I thought we could go somewhere else tonight. Have you eaten anything?"

"I had a cheeseburger for lunch, and half a sleeve of oreo's for dinner," he replied, suddenly feeling giddy that their evening was turning out to be a real date, and not just an implied sexual encounter.

The older man chuckled and checked his watch, "C'mon," he said, motioning his head for the exit. "I know a place."

Stepping out of Finnick's car, Peeta scanned the street for any signs of familiarity finding none. They walked together down a grassy knoll to a quiet looking restaurant. The air was cool and felt good on his neck, as did the hand that gently rested on his lower back as they walked.

Peeta hung back when they arrived, letting Finnick speak to the hostess and reserve a table. He couldn't help but notice the way she gushed when he spoke to her, and how she brushed a lock of her own hair behind her ear ever so slowly. It suddenly occurred to him that Finnick seemed to have this affect on most people he met. He couldn't tell if it was his way of speaking, his deep, charming voice or his beauty, and even he himself wasn't immune to falling for his charm. Now he was left to wonder how many lovers the man had and if he was looking for someone special, just like Peeta was.

After only a short wait, in which time they shared a cigarette, they were taken to a table at the back. The restaurant was quiet and was now only occupied by a handful of couples, each radiating quality and sophistication. This was Finnick's world, and Peeta couldn't help but feel like he was missing some of the key criteria to be completely accepted. The elegant restaurant was definitely a large step up from the dingy bars he'd been accustomed to. Now he felt like he was wearing a disguise, terrified that his every day inner turmoil would penetrate the façade of the person he wanted to be. The person he once was.

"Do you want a drink?" Finnick asked, carefully studying his menu.

"No. Not yet," Peeta replied, his attention now focused on the bread placed in the middle of the table.

Finnick set his menu down and glanced at him, "Is this place okay? If you don't like it we can-"

"No. It's fine," he replied reassuringly.

"Everything okay?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

In many ways, they were still strangers, having only met each other a week earlier, but Peeta knew they had something he wanted so badly. They had somehow found each other, and he knew Finnick was someone he wanted in his life. He could already feel himself improve around him. It seemed that Finnick was a lifeline, a path to take to get back to his old self, free of pain and hardship. He didn't want to let go, or give any reason to be driven away.

"That hostess was all over you," he blurted, unsure of what else to say.

Finnick chuckled and cracked a sly smile, "Doesn't really matter. She's not my type."

"Well what is your type?" Peeta asked, trying his best to avoid sounding desperate or self important, but also dying to know what his intentions really were.

Finnick sat back in his seat and sighed, thinking of his answer, or possibly a witty joke or comment, "Well, I have this thing for short blonde guys who bake bread."

Peeta chuckled and immediately felt at ease.

"What about you?" he asked, "It's funny, I think I have you all figured out, when really I don't know a lot about you."

"You know where I work, where I live and what I drink," Peeta offered, knowing it wouldn't be enough.

The older man looked at him, not willing to speak unless it was to supplement some new information he had been provided. He was afraid to let any part of his real life bubble to the surface, terrified that it would drive him away like it did Cato or his brother. For one night he didn't want to be Peeta Mellark.

"My parents died a while ago. I live with my brother, but we don't really get along anymore," Peeta said in one breath, surprising himself with the ability to cram his life story into a nut shell.

Finnick bit his lower lip, unsure of what to say and regretting the way he coaxed the information out of him. "That really is awful," he said lowly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He could sense the instant awkwardness settle in, the last thing he wanted. "I'm not some weird little orphan kid with a whole lot of baggage. I'm learning to be normal again," he said with a half smile, offering the smallest of jokes to let him off the hook. The lie felt good.

Finnick smiled at him warmly, reaching his hand across the table and taking his hand into his own, appreciating the way the colour instantly returned to the younger man's face with the smallest of gestures, the slightest touch. A change of subject was long overdue.

His grasp felt supremely good as did the warmth that radiated from his hand. "Are you looking for something serious? I just want to know what this is to you?" Peeta asked, terrified the answer wouldn't be what he wanted to hear but relieved to finally have the weight of the question off his shoulders.

"I like you, and I think about you a lot," Finnick said softly, retracting his hand back to rest on his leg, "But I'm not looking for anything serious."

Peeta immediately felt his heart drop and expertly hid his disappointment with an indifferent nod as if he understood.

"Are you okay with that? I don't want to lead you on."

"It's fine. Just a good time right?" He said, tearing himself away from his emotions. He smiled and picked up his menu, cursing himself for being foolish enough to reveal the hidden truths in his life that may have just played a part in keeping Finnick away.

* * *

When Finnick closed the door Peeta was on him, quickly moving and pushing him into the wall to kiss him as his vest slid off his arms and onto the floor. Their lips locked and mouths opened, Peeta heard the sound of the man's belt unbuckle and hit the floor.

When their lips finally parted, Peeta quickly yanked off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. Finnick breathed heavily doing the same until they both stood half naked. Without a shirt, Peeta could really feel how cold it was inside. The cold air was only subdued by the feeling of warm skin pressed against his own as Finnick took him into his hold and continued kissing him. Large hands expertly moved for his belt. Once removed, the same warm hands slipped into the back of his pants and caressed the soft, quivering behind gently causing the younger man to groan into his mouth and use his own hands to unzip and drop his pants and underwear around his ankles.

Finnick paused for a moment to take in the sight of the naked younger man, before smiling wickedly and letting Peeta's quick hands do the same to his own pants.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Finnick asked, a note of concern betraying the smile on his face, as if he already knew the answer.

Peeta kissed him quickly as he finished undressing his lover, quickly breaking the kiss and memorizing the sight of the perfectly sculpted man and his beautiful body. "Yeah."

Finnick's apartment was dark. Peeta allowed himself to be taken by the hand and into what he could only assume was his bedroom.

"Get on the bed," Finnick mumbled. He could feel nothing but his immediate arousal as the younger man nodded, assuming the position on his hands and knees. The older man allowed his own hand to wrap around himself momentarily, pleasuring himself at the sight. Peeta craned his neck and watched him expectantly. Finnick quickly slipped out of his underwear, before placing a hand on the smooth ass cheek, rubbing gently, brushing his fingertips back and forth across the quivering flesh.

A gasp escaped his lips and a smile spread across his face as he felt Finnick touch him. When the large hands slowly travelled between his legs his breath caught for a moment as if he were suddenly winded, it wasn't only the sensation of being touched that caused such a reaction, but the unmistakeable sound of Finnick letting out a hushed moan as searching hands reached their destination.

The feeling of the man's warm hand wrapped around him while the other slowly teased the tense muscle with two split slicked fingers, probing gently and carefully was marvellous, reminding him of his first time. Small, infrequent pants issued from his mouth and were the only sounds filling the room for a few minutes, it was all Peeta could do until he couldn't take it anymore, and rolled onto his back, pulling the taller man down on top of him.

Suddenly, and almost out of nowhere, Finnick ravaged him. The larger man pressed all his weight down onto the grinning blonde man as their lips hovered apart for a few moments. Both men stared into each other's eyes, more aroused now that their bodies finally touched in that unmistakable way. Finnick kissed him again, the velvet, wet heat, the taste and the feel of those beautiful lips on him was something Peeta had missed and God, it was exactly what he wanted.

Clinging to the older man as their bodies memorized the feel of one another, Peeta rolled himself on top of Finnick. Their lips finally parted, he sat up and straddled the man's waist. He rather enjoyed this sight, even in the darkness. He rested one hand on Finnick's shoulder as the other moved behind him, feeling the hard length and stroking with a full, tight fist, causing the other man to squirm beneath him. He lowered himself forward until his lips met the spot below Finnick's ear, placing small kisses there.

Finnick groaned through gritted teeth. He could feel the mounting pressure through his body as Peeta simultaneously held him tightly, while slowly pressing the blunt head into his entrance.

"No." Finnick pushed Peeta away. Sitting up slightly, he reached into the bedside drawer. He fumbled for a moment before pulling out a condom, then pressing it into the younger man's hand. For a moment they shared a look, in which Finnick made his thoughts clear.

Peeta rolled the prophylactic onto the man's engorged length before resuming his position between his legs. The pain was there as he sunk himself down, but he pushed it out of his mind, concentrating solely on the sensation of being filled, and the small rushes of pleasure that came from it. He kissed Finnick ferociously, lapping up his tongue and reminding him that for the moment, they were one.

Using his knees, Peeta rocked himself back and forth, loving the sensation of Finnick slowly filling him with each thrust. Peeta let out a moan at a particularly hard thrust. He reached out and took Finnick's hand, lacing their fingers together as he continued to get fucked harder and harder.

Finnick stared into his eyes and held his hand tighter, gaping as Peeta started to fuck himself onto his dick harder and faster. Peeta gasped as he deliberately clenched his ring of muscle around the tight flesh inside of him. He grinned at the expression on the man's face, knowing how badly he wanted to come, Peeta didn't want to let him hold on any longer. He wanted to make the man break.

He was surprised when Finnick clutched him closer, pulling him by the shoulders and staring directly into his eyes. Their foreheads pressed together, they shared the same breath as Finnick groans grew louder and he came, holding Peeta tightly in place and shuddering. He placed a kiss on the younger man's sweaty chest before burying his face in the crook of his neck. With Finnick still inside of him, he let himself fall on top of him.

They remained pressed together for a few minutes as they both regained their breath. Peeta placed small kisses along Finnick's neck before wrapping his arms around him tightly, the chill of the night began to creep back into the apartment.

"You cold?" Finnick asked, pressing his lips against Peeta's.

He nodded with a small grin while Finnick rolled him onto his back and discarded the condom. The bed was warm, so was the feel of the older man's hands, which were currently running down his chest before pulling his legs apart, and taking Peeta into his hand. "Let me know when you're close," Finnick said softly, taking him into his mouth.

Suddenly, he was on fire. The coldness couldn't touch him anymore. He was lost in the warm wetness of Finnick's eager mouth, who took him all at once. There was nothing tentative about his movement, nothing was guesswork. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Peeta moaned as he forced his eyes open and curled his fingers through the thick head of hair that was servicing him. He forced himself to watch Finnick, noting how beautiful he looked like this. He watched how quickly his lips worked around him, he couldn't help feeling pride, knowing that this was as much for Finnick's benefit as it was his own, like the man was hungry for his taste.

"I'm close," he panted in ragged breaths. He watched as Finnick removed him from his mouth, immediately slithering his way up Peeta's torso, stroking his dick furiously. As Finnick's hand continued to work him, his lips teased the hardened muscle in Peeta's stomach before slowly moving all the way up to his neck and continuing his attack there.

Peeta came when their lips finally reunited. Finnick smiled and wiped his hand on the blanket. Purring, he resumed sucking and biting the whimpering man's neck, making sure to leave one or two love bites on his neck and collar bone. His body pressed down onto Peeta, sweaty skin stuck together, heat radiated from both of them. Finnick's hand travelled down to Peeta's navel, slowly running his palm across the sensitive skin. They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments as the older man memorized the feel of his body.

"I'll let you get under the covers in a minute, I just want to kiss you for a bit," Finnick mumbled into his lips, his own red and pouty, all kissed out. He was unable to get enough of him. "You taste so sweet."

Peeta smiled into the kiss. He drifted off to sleep when he felt the warm body occupy the space next to him and pull him into his chest. Finnick buried his face in the blonde locks, breathing in the man's scent deeply before closing his eyes.

Nothing else mattered, all his problems seemed small and insignificant. Finnick was there, holding him and breathing him in. It was all that mattered. He didn't care if Finnick took it seriously or not. For the moment, it was all real to him.


	4. Scars

**Author's Note: I just wanted to quickly give a thanks to the wonderful people who have put this story on alert. I hope you like this, I wanted to move the story along while shedding some light on the past. Enjoy.**

* * *

"I'm not a good guy, Peeta." Finnick exhaled, his green eyes focused intently on the cloud of blue smoke that had left his lungs, passing through his nostrils and now filling the ceiling of the bedroom, illuminated by dim light. He reached for the ashtray that sat on the nightstand while continuing to stare.

Peeta continued drawing patterns on the taller man's bare torso with his index finger. He was seemingly fascinated with two small round scars along his rib cage.

"What are you talking about?" he asked as his hand travelled down and rested on Finnick's warm thigh, fingertips brushed against a small patch of hair. He paid little attention to the man's words. His lips replaced his fingers as he gently kissed the two scars.

Finnick took another drag and crushed the cigarette in the ashtray. "Nothing," he mumbled.

He reached his hand out to stroke Peeta's blonde locks carefully, admiring the golden locks that hung in his face, he glanced at him, green eyes travelled down over his bare body. He found himself getting used to the feeling of having the younger man admire his own body like that. He could tell over the past weeks, the young man had become enamoured with him, he hated himself for provoking those advances, for being too weak to turn them down, especially when Peeta appeared at his door with a chipper smile in place.

Finnick was allowing Peeta to get closer than anyone else had before. It didn't seem fair, not only to lead him on, but to subject him to the pain and hurt he would inevitably have to put Peeta through when he would break off their liaison.

Peeta didn't deserve that. He had an innocence about him that made Finnick want to protect him and keep him safe. Eventually a time would come when he'd be forced to break it off. Every day he delayed, every time they kissed, he knew it would only cause more hurt for both of them. He would deliberately have to hurt someone he'd come to care for, someone who already had a fair share of pain inflicted on him.

He really wasn't a good guy.

He didn't want to think about it at that moment. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the pleasure of Peeta's lips touch him. Perfect.

"What did it feel like?" Peeta asked as he sat up in the large bed and reached for the packet of cigarettes that had fallen to the floor.

He knew what he was referring to. His hand instinctively rested along his only imperfection, the two faded scars above his left hip almost below his rib cage that had been placed with kisses only moments earlier. "Getting shot?"

Peeta held the cigarette in his lips and lit it, raising his eyebrows in response. It had been his favourite spot and his current fascination. Even as Finnick laid before him, naked and bare with their legs tangled together amongst the strewn sheets, he couldn't take his eyes off the scars that rose and fell with every breath. After three weeks he finally summoned the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him every time they slept together or he felt the taller frame wrapped around him.

Finnick shrugged a response. "It hurt."

"Well that's specific," Peeta replied sarcastically. "C'mon. I want to know."

He hated the scars, no matter how small they were. They were a constant reminder of a chapter in his life he had no interest in revisiting. Peeta was not the first person to ask about them, and was definitely not the last. The mark was hard to disguise as another sort of injury, especially given his prior career. Most people left the topic alone upon picking up on Finnick's clear hesitation, but there was an unusual level of comfort Peeta seemed to develop around him.

Finnick sighed, "First there was this kind of sharp stinging pain. I could feel the bullets lodge inside. By the time I actually realized what was happening, I was already down. He rubbed his big toe against Peeta's knee. "Then out of nowhere there was this huge pressure pushing down on my chest, my lung collapsed and I couldn't really breath."

"Shit," Peeta mumbled, flicking the ash off the tip of the cigarette, Peeta used his free hand to run up and down Finnick's calf, resting his chin on the his bent knee. "Then what?"

"By the time I realized what had happened, I started reaching for my med pack. At first it didn't hurt so much, but as the adrenaline started to wear off I could feel everything." He paused for a moment, and looked into the younger man's blue eyes, wide with wonder and curiosity.

To Peeta it was just a cool story that roused his interest. It was an entirely different experience to Finnick. It was the story of how his life almost ended. Peeta wasn't caught between gunfire, bleeding to death, feeling the pain of the almost mortal wound blossom inside him. He wasn't laying on the ground feeling the life slip away from him, helpless and scared, unable to be helped as others joined him on the ground wounded, dead or in danger of joining him.

Finnick didn't feel the tear well up in his eye. "The pain quickly grew, it was pretty intense. I couldn't move, I couldn't help myself, I couldn't do _anything. _And the worst part was, I knew there was nothing I could do, that I had to just lay there and wait to fucking waste away. I knew it was coming and I couldn't do anything but lay there and wait for it. Do you have any idea how that feels?" he asked sullenly.

Peeta paused for a moment, hesitating to say anything as he searched his memory for an answer, quickly realizing that no injury he ever faced could possibly compare to the sickening story he was being told. He shook his head quickly. "No," he said quietly.

"I knew I was in serious shit when I started to feel how wet the ground was," Finnick continued, "It could have been the loss of blood, but it didn't register with me straight away that it was my own blood I was laying in. I was covered with it. That's when I knew I was going to die."

Memories as vivid as ever filled his mind, a panicked whimper, the sound of his own desperate, uneven breathing and the distant shouting and gunfire all around him. He remembered his life coming to an end and the sight of all the blood, too much of it. He didn't know there was so much.

Peeta pulled him out of his hallucination by taking his hand gently. "It's okay," he said softly, reassuring the older man by placing a kiss on his hand.

He left his cigarette to dangle in the ashtray, moving his entire body back to Finnick. He resumed his position, by his side, wrapped around him, his head on his heart. He observed the cloudiness in the man's eyes, which now seemed empty and distant with a one or two tears filling them.

"You won, Finnick. You survived," Peeta said lowly, unsure of how to fix the situation, his own heart dropping at the sight of the man in pain. He recognized that look. He was all too familiar with that look.

Finnick closed his eyes, trying his best to recall what he had learned in the months of psychical and psychological rehabilitation. He remembered being forced to learn to walk again without a cane, tying knots into a small piece of rope and being _rewarded_ with an honourable discharge, the most degrading and humiliating moment in his life.

"I used to be so much better than this," Finnick muttered. "I used to have purpose and dignity, I was part of something."

He was unsure of where the sudden revelation was coming from. "I thought you were the one who requested to leave."

Finnick scoffed almost obnoxiously, "Peeta. I got shot and spent three weeks in a military hospital, before being sent back here to live in a rehab ward for four months before they showed me the door. They kicked me out. They didn't want me anymore. I was too weak."

The tone had already become heated and tense. Peeta didn't want to respond, but he couldn't get the words out of his head. "You still have purpose. You don't need to fight in a war to be driven or powerful," he said, sitting up and pulling at Finnick's arm too, pulling him up with him.

"What the hell do you know?" Finnick muttered, sitting up, "I let my guard down, I thought I knew everything, that I was untouchable, and look at what it cost me."

Peeta nodded curtly, "There are worse things you know."

"Yeah? Like what?" he mumbled, reaching for Peeta's discarded, half smouldered cigarette.

"Like losing your family and having your whole world change," Peeta said quietly, wanting Finnick to see there was more to life than what his preconceived thoughts were, while at the same time, not wanting to make it about him and his problems.

They sat quietly on the bed. Even completely naked, Finnick felt so exposed and bare before. He hated that he let his guard down and opened himself up to the younger man who moved in to kiss him deeply, assuring, caring. He hadn't wanted it, nor had he invited it. He was suddenly furious that Peeta had managed to sneak into his life, consume his every thought and feeling and even make him want him.

Peeta broke their kiss. "You're not weak," he whispered, moving closer into Finnick's hold.

Finnick unintentionally placed his hand over Peeta's heart. The feel of it beat forced him to pause. Peeta wrapped in him, he could feel his heart beat faster.

"Yes I am," he whispered back.

The realization of what their relationship was becoming quickly dawned on him as Peeta moved his body to sit in his lap, that the young man saw this as more than it was. In truth, so had he. He found himself wanting Peeta's heart, to feel it beat. It made him weak. Peeta wanted to kiss him and have him open up about his past, his secrets and the things he didn't want to talk about again. Now Peeta was kissing him, his way of letting him know it would be okay. Peeta now knew his weaknesses, he'd gained too much power. He knew what could undo him, what could make Finnick break, where he liked to be touched, how to touch him.

He broke the kiss, pushing Peeta back slightly, off from around his body. "Stop," he hissed.

"What is it?" Peeta asked, reaching out to touch him again.

Finnick shook his head, forcing himself to hold back the words he was about to spit out. He held back his instructions for Peeta to get dressed and get out, that he didn't want him to stay, that he didn't want the man touching him. "It's nothing."

He rested his hands in his lap, "Why won't you let me touch you? You've never said no to me before."

"I'm not in the mood," Finnick said quietly. He discarded the cigarette and clicked off the lamp. The room now filled with darkness. He rolled onto his side, making sure to have his back turned on the younger man.

For the first time, he didn't feel Peeta on him, crawling into his arms or holding him from behind. It felt equally freeing as it did upsetting.

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Peeta muttered aloud, he too turning on his side on the other side of the bed.

Finnick was quiet for a moment. "No. You shouldn't have."

* * *

It had been weeks since the pain had come. Peeta knew he had been stupid to think maybe he was moving past it. He had come to accept that he never would. That night it was brought about by a particularly vivid dream he woke from. It wasn't so much a dream as a series of vivid memories, only slightly distorted with surreal images Peeta couldn't really remember.

He awoke at some point well into the night. He ripped the covers off himself and moved for his dresser, where he kept a half empty bottle of vodka for such an emergency. The harsh clear spirit numbed the memories and the pain, and if enough was ingested, would knock him out quickly.

He propped his desk chair in front of the window and covered himself with a blanket as he slowly took mouthfuls of the harsh liquor. It was becoming all too familiar with him - his growing dependency of the intoxication that alcohol provided as an escape when things got too rough.

Closing his eyes, he recalled the days leading up to the worst event of his life. He brought the bottle up to his lips again and remembered the way Cato would smell when they laid in bed together, Cato tall and strong, Peeta pressed behind him, short with his arm wrapped around the larger man's neck watching his lover smoke a joint.

He was happier then, blissfully unaware that in a matter of days his parents would die and he would never get them back.

Peeta was broken. At first in a mild state of catatonia, he would sit in his room alone, unable to cry, scream or feel anything. It was Cato who sat with him, feeding him, whispering things in his ear and doing his very best to bring his heartbroken love back to life.

Then the grief came. Peeta quickly discovered the weight of his sorrow was too much to bear, something he couldn't bring himself to handle. He was unable to sleep, too frightened of his dreams and the images that would play when his eyes were closed. Waking up every day proved to be laborious, knowing his parents were dead, now buried in the Earth leaving a hole in him. Once again, it was Cato who listened to his begs for a way to make the pain stop, who held Peeta as he sobbed and trembled, pleading for Cato to do something, _anything_ to make it stop.

Convenient drugs didn't work. Peeta found the intoxication of the pot Cato provided growing wearisome and tedious very quickly. It proved to be futile. If anything, it only exacerbated the smaller man's grief. Once the drug proved itself ineffective, Peeta's depression grew as he began to realize it wasn't enough.

Cato quickly learnt to be more resourceful and found a way to supply his lover with substances he hoped would heal the agony of everyday living - it was now becoming not only a burden for Peeta, but him too. It didn't take him too long to acquire the drugs that could medicate Peeta and stop his heart wrenching sobs that were beginning to take their toll.

He brushed the blonde hair out of Peeta's face and looked deep into his red eyes that had begun to grow dark circles beneath them. Knowing Peeta would be scared, Cato kissed him gently and promised it would all be okay before cutting the white powder into a long line and taking the first hit.

Even in a state of euphoria, Peeta's anger began to manifest. In a matter of weeks, Cato had seen the man he loved change into someone else entirely. Even the euphoria of cocaine couldn't calm him, and Cato couldn't help but wonder if the drugs were to blame, replacing his grief with a fury that Peeta unleashed on everyone besides him.

He had become Peeta's protector in every sense of the word. He no longer cared about actions or consequences as long as the man he loved was at peace and completely untouchable by the pain that loomed over him. Cato didn't care if the drug use and blatant abuse of alcohol were causing this sort of raging reaction, as long as Peeta would stop trembling when his mind had a chance to catch up and remind him of the void in his life. As the weeks passed, the use of drugs began to wane, leaving only alcohol to pick up the slack.

Completely oblivious to the long term repercussions, Cato continued to encourage Peeta's actions without taking a moment to consider letting the man grieve. He watched on as Peeta and Noah's relationship deteriorated and even found himself getting involved when Peeta needed defending.

Their reckless actions eventually caught up with them. The memories of his arrest were lost somewhere in a hazy part of his memory, clouded amongst the other repressed memories during his depression. Peeta could remember being strung out and equally, if not more wrecked than Cato one night when an altercation between them and a few other men lead to violence. Certain images that weren't lost remained burned in his memory. Cato's furious fists flying through the air, Peeta's own bloodied knuckles colliding with bone, flesh and teeth, and Cato's large hand taking Peeta's as they unsuccessfully tried to outrun the fast approaching sirens.

Somehow, in a daze of confusion and panic, Peeta found himself alone in an overnight cell to sober up, awaiting to hear if any charges would be placed. He didn't care. Peeta quickly realized it was the first night he had spent alone in a long time, he couldn't understand why Cato abandoned him.

Noah picked him up shortly after. Peeta sat in his room for two days waiting for Cato to come back.

Cato was the only person he had left. When calls went unanswered and the man was nowhere to be seen, Peeta was devastated to realize he was never coming back. The out right betrayal was what hurt him more than anything. The notion that he was hurt or in danger was completely ludicrous and absurd to think. If Cato did anything well, it was protecting himself. To think the man just took off without a reason or goodbye hurt more than words could describe.

He didn't know what happened to him, where he was, who he was with, just that he wasn't in Peeta's arms. Now, all he could do was nurse a bottle of vodka in the darkness of his room. It was the only relief he could find. The vodka tinged his lips, it tasted like Cato. Like countless other nights, he began to ask himself the hard questions he didn't know if he had an answer to while he thought back to where it all could have gone wrong. Was it his fault? Was it the one action that drove the man away? Or was it a culmination of the months of unmanageable, unbearable grief and burden he placed on him?

Peeta didn't know. He supposed he never would. But on that particularly low night, the only comfort he could find were in the memories of what he once had and how good they were to remember on nights when he had no one.

* * *

Finnick didn't bother getting a name from her. It felt even better knowing she didn't seem to care what his name was either. She was exactly what he needed, another nameless, faceless girl he could use and discard.

It was what he did best.

There would be no hurt for her once this was over. No pain. No apologies.

He lifted her up onto the counter between the two faucets, she knocked the back of her head on the bathroom mirror. Her own fumbling hands pulled up her short skirt as his far more steady hands grasped her panties and pulled them off and dropped them to the floor. He began freeing himself from the confines of his pants.

She was intoxicating to him, the moment he saw her on the dance floor he knew he had to have her. He was used to having whoever he wanted and she was no exception. A perfect outlet for his desire, tall, blonde and promiscuous, just the way he liked them. There was no chance the completely forgettable stranger would invade his thoughts and feelings, or cause him to be concerned about her well being, the way he did about Peeta. He knew this relief would take him away from all of it. He couldn't stand the way his lust competed with his conscious. Everything was getting away from him, he was losing all his control and power because someone had made him vulnerable.

His hand dug around his wallet for the condom he'd strategically placed in lieu of the encounter he had planned. He tore the packaging open with his teeth and rolled it onto the tip of his hardened length.

Finnick had to remind himself to be gentle with her. It wasn't like being with a man where they could roll around between the sheets, using their strength to pleasure the other. She was delicate and soft, a welcome change.

He enjoyed the way she released quiet gasps as he pushed himself into her. The feeling of being with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted was liberating. Once he was in, he began to thrust in a fast rhythm causing them both to release the desperate groans from their throats.

He didn't have to make excuses, he certainly didn't have to explain himself. He had made himself clear. He was beyond caring about the younger man and his feelings. The more he cared, the more they both hurt. It was a contradiction that he couldn't find himself concerned with any longer. He was proving a point now. He had already spent weeks consumed by the younger man, he'd allowed him to open up about his pain and he kissed away his sweet tears. He'd shared his own pain and opened the flood gates. This was his way of establishing his position, sticking to his own rules and refusing to break them again for anyone.

Later, he would smell her perfume all over him and find some of her lipstick on the collar of his shirt and remind himself he wasn't weak anymore.


	5. Truth Be Told

**Author's Note: Thanks again for your lovely reviews. Just a short chapter. This was originally much longer until I realized I was telling the story too fast and needed to pace myself a little bit. I plan to open this story up a bit with other characters, but for the time being I'm having a blast writing between this pairing. I was going for something between angst and romance, I hope it works for you.**

** I'm already 3k into my next chapter, so I'll hopefully have it up within a week. Thanks readers.**

* * *

He walked down the cold, dead street. As he passed by the various brownstones and townhouses an ice cold chill ran through his body, forcing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand to attention. _"Maybe this is a bad idea,"_ he thought to himself, attempting such a bold move this early on could only go two ways. He'd either look brave and romantic, or clingy and needy. As he continued to huff down the street, he knew Finnick would see him as the latter. What else could he do? He had never felt this way - desired _and _unwanted, a tricky grey area to be placed in.

He made his way down the alley. The ladder to the fire escape had been dragged up and returned to it's place covering the void in the exit of the steel frame. He thought for a second, before simply jumping vertically, his arms swinging for the handle, attempting to pull the ladder down, only to miss and stumble forward upon landing.

He'd never felt more humiliated, desperate… and short. At that moment his face burned red and Peeta couldn't help but look around and make sure no one had witnessed it, he reminded himself that such an act made him weak, that the other man didn't want to see him now - maybe not at all given the way Finnick had been seemingly keeping his distance over the past few weeks, but the wanting to be close to man, the man inside that building on that lonely Saturday night was too much to bear.

It took two more attempts before Peeta successfully managed to grip the pull down ladder, lowing the lower rung to his knees. It didn't occur to him how shaky and clangy the stairs would be. He was out of breath by the time he reached the third level of the exterior metal staircase.

Peeta immediately recognised the interior, almost entirely pitch black. His heart leapt at the sight of the large bed against the far wall to the right, a pale, long form bathed in the bright moonlight. Finnick. Of course he was the type of person to carelessly leave such an open invitation to any would-be intruder. Whether the man was encouraging one, or simply indifferent or unafraid, he didn't know.

Would Finnick try to hurt him? Mistaking him for a burglar, or someone wishing to harm him? He was not a man Peeta felt safe startling, especially not at 1am.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and pushing away the fear in his gut, he carefully lifted a leg over the window frame, while simultaneously keeping his eyes peeled, careful not to make any sudden movements or noises as he made his way inside.

The feelings of fear and tension started to melt away, quickly being replaced by butterflies as he silently kicked off his shoes and walked over to the bed.

Finnick laid there, sleeping soundly, forcing the butterflies to flutter in the pit of his stomach. Peeta noted the way his bronze hair hung on his forehead, his perfect square jaw twitching ever so slightly. He smiled as he watched the man's well toned, bare chest rise and fall with each breath, his right arm laying above his head, revealing a patch of hair beneath the muscular arm, the other lay by his side. There was only one thing Peeta desired more than feeling those strong arms around him again, the feel of the man's full lips pressed against his own.

He was so beautiful.

Peeta removed his socks, as he removed his jacket and shirt, he felt the chill of the night breeze flowing through the room, assaulting his half naked body, making him shiver.

He kneeled down by the low bed, resting a hand on the mattress, facing the sleeping man, resisting the urge to run his fingers through the full head of hair. He exhaled slowly, summoning the courage to slowly whisper _"Finnick."_

Two large green cat eyes slowly opened, widening for a split second before remaining on a stare that saw right through the younger man. Peeta's lips parted, but no words came, no explanation providing a reason for his uninvited, unrequited presence at such an hour. His eyebrows furrowed, as if he started to process what exactly he was seeing in the moonlight. "Peeta?" he said in an angry and exasperated tone. "What the hell are you doing here?" Finnick sat up in his bed quickly, suddenly looking angrier, more furious with each passing second.

The blonde man gaped, terrified of this reaction, yet never really expecting it. Once again, his mouth opened, only for nothing more than a stammer coming out. He stood up quickly, taking a couple of steps back, almost stumbling backward.

The older man looked at him, demanding an answer, cocking his jaw and rubbing his eyes angrily. He leaned to his side to turn on the lamp by his bed, filling the room with a dim light. Peeta was almost trembling with embarrassment.

"Sorry," Peeta mumbled, eyeing the window, hating himself for having no common sense, and wishing for a quick retreat. "I'll go. I'm sorry."

Peeta's movement was quick, almost erratic, as if he didn't know what he was trying to do. He was suddenly aware of his own half dressed form. As he bent down to the floor to retrieve his black shirt, Finnick lunged forward from his bed, gripping him by the arm with both hands, hauling him onto the end of the bed.

"Why are you here?" Finnick snapped in a hushed tone, into his ear, releasing one of his hands, keeping the other firmly clamped on the smaller man's arm.

Peeta shrugged, shivering at the feel of the man's warm breathe on his neck, "I wanted to see you. It seemed like a good idea…"

He placed his hand on the back of Peeta's neck, squeezing lightly. "Everything seems like a good idea when you don't think anything through," he growled, using his free hand to shove the younger man in the shoulder. "You're eighteen. You're supposed to be old enough to know better than to pull this shit."

He felt the hope drain out of him as quickly as it flourished moments earlier. Now he knew this was over. If they had any chance of being anything, it was done. He felt the pressure of his neck ease up. "You're right," Peeta said quietly with a nod, feeling the shame burn up once more. Again, he rose to his feet.

"What did you think was going to happen, Peeta?" Finnick asked with a sigh, running a hand through his thick hair, rubbing his tired eyes.

He reached for his socks, before finally turning and facing the older man, "I thought you'd want me."

The words seemed to stop the ones slowly escaping Finnick's mouth, forcing him to consider them. He stared up at Peeta for a while, weighing his decision, but saying nothing.

"Sorry again," Peeta mumbled as he pulled his shirt over his head, making his way for the exit.

He frowned, watching the man, upset to have hurt him. "Come here," he said, aware of the tiny pang of remorse in his voice. He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the end, watching as Peeta slowly made his way back over. He frowned as the younger man stood before him. "I'm not used to this."

"What?" Peeta asked, sitting on the bed beside him, dropping his hands in his lap.

Finnick stared at him for a moment, "I care about you, Peeta. But you need to know that this is what it is."

The younger man clenched his jaw, "What is this?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Do I really have to say it?" He asked, that same note of frustration lingering in his question. "You can't just sneak over here whenever you feel like it. There have to be some boundaries. You and I aren't-"

"-I know." Peeta cut him off, hating the man but dying for his affection all at once.

Finnick leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, not wanting his affection to be mistaken for something deeper, but unable to resist him. "I understand if you want to call this off. I won't blame you."

"Do you want me to call this off?" Peeta asked, staring at the ground and feeling the kiss on his cheek burn into his skin.

Finnick shook his head. "No. I really don't."

The older man's words didn't do much to console his wounded heart. But at that point, he had to take what he could get.

"At least tell me why?" Peeta asked.

Finnick remained quiet for a moment as the question hung over his head. He wasn't sure if he really had an answer, and he certainly didn't want to tell him that having him around constantly, or letting him into his life the way he wanted to would only make him resent the younger man.

"I don't want to be responsible for making you happy when I can't even make myself happy. I know I won't be able to give you what you want, and you'll only end up hating me for it," Finnick said softly. "Despite what you think, I've got a whole list of shit to work out. I guess that makes me fucked up."

"No you're not," he muttered bitterly, "You're perfect."

He let out a laughed grunt, only to be met by piercing blue eyes, wanting something more. "I don't want to lose you. But I can't give you what you want."

"Is there someone else?" Peeta asked.

"No." The truth was there really wasn't. For a moment he debated as to wether or not he should come clean about the others, but decided not to. The young man was already upset.

"Okay." Peeta stood up and crossed his arms, debating his next course of action for a moment. He didn't know if he wanted to stay or go, instead he followed his heart and disrobed before leaning in and crawling into Finnick's bed again.

Finnick rested his tired forehead on Peeta's bare shoulder, smiling at the feeling of the warmth and smoothness of his soft skin. "Are you sure you'll be okay with this?"

"If I can't have what I want, then I'll take what I can get," Peeta replied in a hushed tone, stroking his hand through Finnick's bronze hair, closing his eyes as full lips kissed his chest.

Finnick let Peeta push him onto his back and straddle his thighs. He pretended not to see the pang of hurt in the big blue eyes that looked into his own. He knew the young man had just sacrificed his happiness to be with him. Finnick had never felt more selfish. He now knew that Peeta would do anything for him, give him whatever he asked while reluctantly accepting he would never receive anything in return.

He finally understood how deep Peeta's feelings for him were, even after all of his warnings and hesitation the young man still wanted to be with him.

Peeta wanted to pretend. The older man knew that. Finnick had taken so much from him, it only seemed fair to play along.

That night he let Peeta whisper things in his ear, things they both knew weren't true and never would be. Finnick nodded along and didn't dispute a word, he never would. Even though it terrified him, he found himself smiling when certain words would come from Peeta's lips. He would never act on them, he would never be the kind of man to really let someone into his heart, but that night it felt good to pretend.

* * *

As Peeta laid in his bed, he wondered what he had really lost. He never really had Finnick in the first place even though for a while it felt he did. Could he lose something he never really had? Furthermore, if he couldn't lose what he didn't have, why did it hurt so much to be without him?

He knew why. He just didn't want to think it. It hurt too much.

He was determined not to wallow in sadness or feel sorry for himself, but there was a limit to how much he could take. His parents, his love, his brother and now Finnick. People had a tendency to disappear from his life, taking his heart with them. He wondered if it would ever really heal. Maybe Finnick had the right idea after all. If he didn't let anyone close, no one could hurt him. At that point, he wondered if he ever would find someone to love him the way he wanted?

Whenever he stopped thinking, Finnick's words would play over in his head. Telling him he they couldn't be together, that it wouldn't happen. It wouldn't stop hurting.

What was he expected to settle for? He didn't want to be a casual partner to come and go from Finnick's bed. He wanted more than that. It was all he'd wanted since they met. He wanted to take Finnick up on his offer and call their little affair off, he wanted to move on with his life and take his dignity with him. Of course, the part of him that cared about the older man wouldn't allow that. He figured it was better to be with him for the sake of relief, then not at all.

Something, anything, was better than nothing. Wasn't it?

He didn't want to answer his own question. Either way he wouldn't like the answer, and he wouldn't have Finnick.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Hours later he was ripped from his sleep by the obnoxious sound of his phone ringing. Without opening his eyes he reached for the phone by his side and accepted the call.

"Hello?" he mumbled.

"_Were you sleeping?"_ Finnick asked casually.

He opened his eyes and sat right up, immediately pulled awake by the voice on the other end of the line. "What's the time?" he asked as his eyes darted around the dark room.

"_Just after 11. I thought you'd still be up," _he said with a sigh, as if unsure of what to say.

A few moments of silence passed. Peeta could already feel the new familiar awkwardness setting it's way in. It was strange how uncomfortable he was to even talk to the man now.

"_Go to your window," _Finnick instructed.

His weariness didn't allow much room for thought. He kept the phone to his ear as he rose from his bed and made his way over to the window. Outside the wind blew slowly causing some of the branches on the large oak tree to sway lightly. It wasn't until he leaned over the window sill that he saw Finnick looking up at him.

Despite everything that had happened, he smiled. "What exactly had you planned here?" he asked into the phone, not wanting to be too loud.

Finnick shrugged and smiled. "It certainly wasn't meant to be a romantic gesture."

"So what's your next move?" he asked slyly.

"Working on it," Finnick replied, eying the large white latticework structure that was once had flowers weaved between it's crisscross framework. It led from the flowerbed up to the window. "Is this trellis safe?"

"How do you think I'm easily able to sneak in and out undetected."

Finnick nodded and hung up. Peeta watched as he cautiously eyed the wooden frame. He took a firm hold of the white wood and tried shaking it. Once he was convinced of it's stability, he began to ascend. His weight caused the wood to creak, much to the younger man's amusement. Peeta watched him as the familiar hope he once had started to rise inside of him despite his protests.

When he finally reached the top, he slipped in through the small window, stumbling as his foot caught on the bottom of the frame.

"Sorry I can't be as stealthy as you," Finnick chuckled, straightening himself up.

Peeta turned on the lamp by his bed, illuminating the small bedroom. Finnick put his hands in his pocket and Peeta was surprised to notice how nervous the man was. Still tired, he rested his head on Finnick's shoulder, smiling into him when he felt the familiar warmth embrace him.

Finnick laid him down in his bed before pulling his shirt over his head and crawling in with him. Peeta turned off the light and pulled the sheets up high, covering both bodies huddled in the small bed. He felt Finnick's lips on the nape of his neck, nuzzling gently and filling his ear with warm breath.

"Damnit, Peeta," Finnick whispered, wrapping his arms around the younger man's middle and pulling him closer and tighter. "What are you doing to me?"

Peeta rolled over so they were face to face. He pressed a long chaste kiss on Finnick's full lips before sighing softly. He nestled his face in the crook of the man's neck, pressing his lips into the soft skin. "You still haven't told me why you came here," he said with a yawn.

"I wanted to see you," Finnick said quietly with drowsiness filling his voice.

He smiled at that. When he felt the larger arms pull him in tighter, he wrapped his own around Finnick's neck. "I'm glad you're here."

Finnick's soothing fingers stroked his hair delicately, "You're in love with me aren't you?"

The question pulled him from his half sleep state immediately. His head told him to lie. Denying him seemed logical. His feelings however, were less logical. "Yes," he said quietly before closing his eyes and resting his face in the crook of Finnick's neck.

The admission was hardly a surprise to him, nether the less he placed a kiss into the blonde hair. "I'm not a good guy."

"I know." Peeta closed his eyes and could only hope that sleep would find him soon.


	6. It Won't Stop Hurting

**Author's Note: I want to apologize for the first segment of this chapter. I tried so hard to write and re-write it, no matter what I did, it didn't read well. In the interest of getting another chapter up and starting on the next I decided I simply couldn't figure out how to make it work any better than what I had down. I will more than likely come back and edit this chapter in the future. Read, Review. Thanks!**

* * *

Peeta lined the fresh baked goods into a plain white box. He was quite impressed with what he had managed to throw together so quickly. An assortment of croissants, muffins and donuts were carefully placed and presented much to his satisfaction. He smiled and looked at the contents again, inspecting it quickly before closing the lid.

"I've got to duck out for an hour," Peeta called to his boss, Mitch. He pulled his apron off and clutched the box carefully. "I'll be back soon."

Mitch eyed the box in Peeta's hands disapprovingly, "You paid for those right?"

Peeta paused for a quick moment, "They're old," he lied.

"Don't drag your ass, kid," The older man grunted.

Peeta stilled for a moment, unsure of how to take the comment. The middle aged man looked up from his paper and shot him a half smile. He chuckled and smiled back.

Customers had dwindled that morning after the 7:00 rush. Peeta decided to put together a few pieces to take to Finnick. From experience he knew Finnick would be up at this time and more than likely getting ready for work, he wanted to be sure to get there before he ate.

Winter had finally come. Peeta pulled on his jacket and a pair of mittens for good measure. He shoved one hand into his pocket, a quick relief for his cold fingers. The air was chilly and biting, as he took his first steps through the very thin layer of snow that had fell the night before, he missed the warmth the store provided.

Despite recent, unnerving events that had left him in a state of confusion about his tentative relationship with Finnick, he was beginning to feel content about everything. His birthday was just over a week away and Christmas was right around the corner. As he waited to cross the street, Peeta smiled to himself knowing the rest of the month would be spent crafting gingerbread house's and Christmas cookies.

He had spent half the week in Finnick's bed, sharing heat underneath a quilt. It had been a week since Peeta confirmed how he felt. Neither man had spoken about it since. He didn't expect Finnick to share his feelings, at least not right away, but there was no mistaking the subtle shift in Finnick's demeanour that made Peeta feel more confident in a future for them. He no longer knew if the older man's priorities were still the same. As much as he told himself not to become too involved or get too attached to a man who could hurt him, Peeta allowed himself to fall in love. Now he had to wait for the man he loved to reciprocate his affection.

As he crossed the intersection and started down the street he had become all to familiar with a question he didn't want to ask was answered for him.

He was disgusted.

Finnick was leaving his building. A tall blonde woman stood by his side. He paused, trying to comprehend what he was seeing, doing his best to rationalise what Finnick was doing and unable to come up with any other explanation besides what he knew in his head.

The kiss Finnick shared with her only confirmed his suspicions.

Furious, he wanted to approach him. Demand an explanation, if he was even entitled to one. He wanted to know how many there were, surely the woman could not have been his only other lover.

He gripped the box tightly as he turned to walk in the opposite direction. He threw it into the gutter and felt his heart sink.

* * *

Through the course of the night Peeta had gone through different stages of anger. First he would infrequently place the blame on a different party, mainly himself, then grit his teeth and force himself to accept harsh truths he didn't want to. He hated himself more than he thought he could at his lowest moment. He hadn't felt the way he did for Finnick with many people before. One of them left him, and Finnick seemed simply beyond caring about anything he had to offer.

How could he blame Finnick for not caring? He was beautiful, successful, even perfect. Peeta knew he wasn't. He should have never said anything. Maybe love wasn't special. Maybe it was a curse placed on him to destroy any hope he had placed in the person he felt it for.

He wondered if his sudden admission of such feelings were to blame for Finnick's betrayal - if he could even call it that. He had told Peeta time and time again they weren't special, there was no exclusivity, nothing was tying them together. But didn't his admission of love mean anything? Or did it mean less than nothing?

Peeta was certain of one thing. The woman he saw Finnick with wasn't the first person he bedded in the time they'd known each other, and she wouldn't be the last.

Now he was back to square one. He hated being there, having to pick up and start again. He didn't have the energy to do it again, at least not anytime soon. The mere thought of being with anyone besides Finnick was too emotionally taxing. The thought that he fell in love with him so quickly and so soon was disturbing to him. Did the death of his parents leave a void in him? Certainly. But was he trying to substitute something, anything to fill that void as quickly as possible?

He knew that he never wanted to see Finnick again. He could just get by the idea of not being able to hold his hand in public, or get any closer or serious with him. He didn't want to, but tried to accept that they wouldn't be anything more than two people who cared for each other, one more than the other. But to sit by knowing that Finnick was with others was unfathomable to him. He could never do that to anyone, he didn't understand how Finnick or anyone else could be so ruthlessly indifferent.

What they _had_ was special. He was sure of it. They had developed an easy, instant bond immediately. Finnick was all he could think about in the passing weeks. There was something there. That was, of course until it all turned to shit. Like most things did for him now.

He hated Finnick for being with others. He hated him for keeping it a secret. The scary thought of how long it would continue had he not caught him that morning crossed his mind, it made him feel sick. How could anyone find that kind of action okay? How could Finnick sleep around without telling him? The act alone was reprehensible to him, but furthermore, despite the fact that they had discussed there was no commitment, did that give Finnick permission to be with whoever he wanted to?

It was Finnick who sought him out originally. Finnick initiated their first kiss, climbed through his bedroom window. The memories felt torn and ruined now.

Now he sat alone, in a dwindling bar. The same place they had originally met. His head spun whenever he would life it from the hand it was buried in. He was surprised he hadn't cried yet. The thought that maybe he was allotted a certain number of tears per lifetime and he used his up crossed his mind, but he knew the pain that brought tears with it would surely come soon, just not yet. Now he had his festering rage to deal with. Once the fury passed, the sorrow would come.

Nothing was strong enough to block out the pain, at least not any alcohol he could be afforded with where he was. He was disappointed to realize he didn't know anyone who could provide him with the same substances Cato would when his pain would come. He took another sip of his scotch. That was the good thing about Cato, not only was he there when Peeta needed him, but he could always be relied on to provide him with enough to make him feel invulnerable to the feel of the two broken pieces of his heart.

"Get up," he muttered to himself, desperate to be out of the rotten place that now had memories attached to it. He slowly lifted his head and looked around. He knew if he stood to stand, he would undoubtedly go crashing to the floor. The last thing he needed was the cops taking him to dry up in the sober tank again - Noah still hadn't forgiven the last time, or the few times before that.

He looked around the bar carefully, trying to find some sort of route he could survive, of course there was still the matter of getting home, but one bridge at a time. A man that looked in his mid 40's, but was probably shy of 30 sat alone at a table near the back. Placed in front of him, a single bottle of whisky and a half empty glass. His eyes shared the same look of vacancy that Peeta knew his own probably had. He wondered if that would be his life? Sitting in a bar, night after night, trying his best to drown out the world and all the misery it brought? He was only 18, too young to be having that kind of crisis. He immediately pushed the thought out of his head as he placed both of his feet flat on the ground and began to place the weight of his body on them.

Sure enough, the dizziness came and he stumbled quickly. Apparently his attempt of controlling the situation with sheer force or will failed to work. His appendages were clearly refusing to comply with the commands his hazy mind was ordering. He took one step, forcing himself to bite down on his lower lip as the urge to regurgitate came. He focussed on the older man at the back who was now staring at him. He then noticed the stares accompanied with whispers from a man and a woman by the pool table, were they directed at him? Another stumbling step and his hand clutched the back of the stool. As his shaking foot lifted to take another step, he recognized a tall figure approaching him, his vision only compromised by the neon beer sign behind the figure.

"Peeta?"

It looked like Finnick, it sounded like him too, but he couldn't be sure of anything, only that he was falling to the ground.

* * *

Peeta was too sick and too tired to stop it. Whenever his eyes would open and reality would distort his half sleep images of a dream for a few seconds, his eyes would close again and a sickening sleep would find him again.

His head spun rapidly, refusing to stop and completely exacerbated by being hung upside down, flung over Finnick's shoulder like a rag doll. He had underestimated his strength. The cold chill of the night air alerted him of his surroundings. He recognized Finnick's car and where he was outside of the bar before he opened his mouth and let out a torrent or vomit, narrowly missing Finnick's shoes and pants.

His eyes closed again, his final thought was how quickly his stomach was turning, no doubt in part to being carried. He passed out again.

When his eyes opened again he felt the cold sweat all over his body. His face was buried in a pillow. It wasn't his. He jerked out of the bed immediately, feeling better when his bare feet touched carpet. The pillow, the bed, the hushed breathing of the man lying next to him. He knew where he was and the blurry images of what he witnessed that day burned in his mind.

He clutched his twisted gut, feeling the contents rise slowly and the dampness of his shirt. He sprang to his feet and darted out of the bedroom, through the small hallway and pushed the bathroom door open. He had just enough time to flick on the light and raise the toilet seat before he released the contents in his twisted stomach into the porcelain bowl.

As he coughed and spluttered and vomited again his hand fisted in his pants. Little could be done to control the volume and noise his body involuntarily made. His hands rested on the cold tile floor. He brought his knees to his chin and closed his eyes, feeling the rumblings in his stomach pass and his head settle. It took a few minutes, certain he had passed the worst of it, he flushed the toilet.

"Peeta?" Finnick's voice called from the hallway. Footsteps came closer until the figure of the tall, half dressed man appeared in the doorway. He paused for a second to wipe the sleep from his eyes before he made his way closer, kneeling by Peeta and the toilet. "What did you take?"

His shook his head slowly and buried it in his knees.

Finnick frowned and stood to his feet, he shifted various items on the counter before handing the smaller man a face cloth. He sat back down on the cold tile.

The pain had subsided - for the time being anyway. His face remained buried, hidden away from the bright unwanted light and the sight of the man he didn't want to see, the root of his pain. The feeling of a bare hand touching his shoulder made him jerk back and flinch.

"What happened?" Finnick asked softly, "The bartender wanted to call an ambulance. Are you sure you didn't take anything?"

He just needed his energy back. Just enough to get home. He didn't want to talk, especially not to Finnick. He was developing a problem, a dependence, one that caused great pain. Psychical pain came trying to fight emotional pain. Was it too much to ask for neither?

"If you're not going to talk to me, then at least come back to bed," Finnick said, his tone slightly agitated. "Come on, get up."

"I don't want to go to bed with you," Peeta mumbled. His stomach had finally settled. He wondered what time it was.

Finnick reached a hand out to touch him again, only pulling back an inch before his hand touched the soft skin. "Fine," he replied, puzzled "I'll take the couch. Or do you want me to drive you home?"

He didn't feel good, but he felt much better than he did earlier. He freed his head and slowly stood up. "I'll walk."

"What?" Finnick gaped at him, "Peeta, what the hell happened to you? What's wrong?"

The long walk home suddenly dawned on him, but he would have rather stumbled home drunk then willingly accept a favor from Finnick.

"Why did you bring me here?" Peeta asked accusingly. "I didn't ask for your help!"

Finnick rose to his feet, glaring at the accusation. "Because if I didn't take you away the manager would have called the cops when you passed out drunk in the middle of the bar."

Peeta blew off the comment as he made his way out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom. His hand reached for the light switch. He quickly searched the room for the rest of his belongings. "Where are my fucking shoes?"

"Peeta, stop," Finnick said in a measured tone, growing increasingly impatient at the younger man stomping through his bedroom. As Peeta made his way past him, Finnick turned on him, grasping his wrists tightly and pushing him into the wall.

"Stop!" Finnick commanded, holding Peeta tightly in place as he struggled to be freed from the hold. "What is wrong with you?"

Peeta managed to free himself from the stronger man's hold. He shoved the man roughly, closing in on him as he stumbled back. "I saw you this morning," he snapped, feeling the pang of pain again once he remembered it all over again.

The same questions reared their ugly heads. Did he really have the right to be upset? Was this about Finnick and the woman? Or was it merely a convenient outlet for him to unleash the same inner rage that had driven the others away?

The older man looked at him questioningly for a few moments as if he was trying to come to the same conclusion. After another moment it dawned on Finnick what Peeta was referring to. He opened his mouth to speak, but words did not come immediately.

"What I do when I'm alone isn't any of your business," he sighed, crossing his arms.

Peeta nodded, eying him bitterly, "Who is she?"

"A friend," Finnick replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Like I'm your _friend_, right?"

"Sort of."

He couldn't fathom Finnick's indifference and his attitude toward his feelings. The implication that the blonde woman was someone Finnick saw regularly made his blood boil.

"How many times have you been with her?" Peeta asked angrily.

"We met a couple of months ago, she works across the street from my office. Since then it's been about once every two of three weeks." The interrogation from the younger man seemed unfair given the position Finnick had taken, but he also knew he owed some answers to him. "Last night was the first time I called her since I met you."

For a brief moment, Peeta wanted to forgive Finnick's actions. He paused for a moment to consider if Finnick sleeping with another person once without making any commitment to him was something he could forgive. He wanted to forgive him so badly, but it wouldn't change anything, he wanted more than what they had. He also knew there was more he didn't know about the man he thought he knew.

Another question raised in his head, one Peeta didn't know if he wanted answered. "But there were other people weren't there? Not just her?" he asked, his anger almost chocking him.

"Yes."

"How many since…" The words choked in his throat. He didn't know if he wanted to ask. "Since we were… together."

Finnick paused. Answering the question would only bring more pain. "Don't do this-"

Peeta scowled, "When I inevitably get syphilis, I want to know who to blame."

He hesitated before answering, knowing his silence was only condemning him further. "Two. The woman you saw this morning, and another last week."

"Shit." He shook his head in complete disbelief. "You really _do_ get around don't you? You make me sick. Are two of your _regulars_ not enough?"

Finnick rose off the bed and stepped closer, his nose flaring at the accusation, "I was clear about everything, about us… But you need to understand it doesn't change how I feel about you."

"That's such a line," Peeta spat viciously, "I bet you had a good laugh when I told you I loved you. The dumbass naive kid falling in love with the hooker. What could you _possibly_ feel for me?"

"I don't know!" Finnick yelled, "It's not a god damn line, Peeta!"

"Bullshit!" His words didn't seem enough. He wanted to cause Finnick pain, physical pain, a fight Peeta was certain he wouldn't win. He used all the rage at his disposal to hurt the man in other ways. "Do you drop that one on all the people that come and go from your bed?"

"No! I wouldn't say it unless I meant it!"

"What?" He scoffed, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. None of it made sense, it never did. "You're disgusting. I'm out of here."

Once again, Finnick's arms stopped him, pulling his arms and locking him in place, only this time his force was stronger as was his will.

"You have to cut this shit!" Finnick snarled, his hands locking death grips around Peeta's. He shook him slightly, trying his best to make him listen. "You have to stop pulling this crap! It's not always about you!"

"Get off me!" Peeta snarled, trying his best to release his hands from the tight grip.

Finnick glared at him angrily. "You know what you're problem is? You're a child. You want to play house with me, you want me to be this perfect guy you can have to himself, you have no idea how to be an adult or what responsibilities come with it. But what the hell can I expect, you're a teenager."

"Screw you!" he barked in reply, "And what? Me wanting you to myself is so much to ask?! What I feel doesn't matter because of my age?!"

"No. I've been down this road, Peeta. I don't want this, I never asked for this shit." Finnick threw his head back in frustration, his strong hands still pinning Peeta's wrists, his grip refusing to falter even for a second. "That doesn't mean I don't want you, because I do. I care a great deal for you."

"Damnit, Finnick!" Peeta yelled, "If you care about someone you d-don't do this to them! You can't put me through the ringer like this! You can't have me when it suits you and _fuck_ the city population when it doesn't, you asshole!"

"And you can't stampede through my life like it belongs to you!" He released Peeta's arms before ripping him away from the wall and shoving him back into it just as aggressively. "I didn't do anything wrong! I was forthcoming and up front with what I wanted from you! I'm sick of having this conversation with you! If you can't accept it then you and I have nothing more to discuss!"

Finnick released his grip on Peeta and stood back, his arms hung by his sides. Peeta noted the way his fists were clenched in anger.

"We want different things," Peeta said carefully, still taken aback from Finnick's words. "You expect me to submit to your demands and your rules, but you won't even meet me half way. You don't care about anything but getting laid. You sure as hell don't give a shit about me or the way I feel about you."

"You really think I don't?" Finnick asked in an accusing tone, he jutted his finger into Peeta's chest, "If I didn't give a shit about you I would have left you on the floor in that bar. I would have done nothing when the cops came, and I sure as hell wouldn't have brought you back here to put up with all your shit! If I didn't care about you I wouldn't be letting you stay here with me every other night, or climbing into your window like a damn fucking teenager! I listen to you, I confide in you and I hold you when we sleep. How the hell can you say I don't care about you?"

"Because you don't want to be with me!" Peeta snapped. The words echoed in his head and he finally realized there was no more discussion. Negotiations were over. Finnick didn't want to be with him. There was nothing more he could do.

The pain in Finnick's eyes didn't go unnoticed by him. Peeta saw the fear in the green stubborn eyes. It didn't mean anything to him, he remained convinced.

Defeated, he let his back slump against the wall and watched as Finnick held a hand to his forhead. "I can't get on board with this, I never could. I can't sit back knowing that your bed isn't empty when I'm not in it. I can't be a part time hobby you look forward to seeing in between rounds. I love you, but I can't."

"If you love me, you won't leave, you won't end this," Finnick mumbled, crossing his arms again and looking at the floor. "You're right. We have something. Just because it's not how you envisioned it, it doesn't mean it's not special."

"Yes it does. That's exactly what it means, Finnick," Peeta sighed, "When I first met you, I thought you were going to be mine, mine only. I fell in love with you hoping that you would see that and give me what I want. But you'll never make me happy. All you do is bring more pain. I would have rather never met you than feel this unhappy around you."

Peeta turned and walked down the hallway to the living room. He could hear the feet behind him as he grabbed his jacket of the couch and quickly put his shoes on.

"Please don't go," Finnick said softly.

Peeta paused for a second, before unlocking the door and closing it behind him.

* * *

As he walked up the driveway, he noticed the sun was just starting to rise, giving him an idea of what time it was, and how long it took him to get home. His face and hands felt almost numb from exposure to the cold air. The only solace Peeta could find in the night was that he had the smallest amount of dignity in it all. Despite his feelings and the pain of never seeing Finnick again, he knew one day he would find someone to love him the way he deserved. He was sick of feeling sorry for himself. He'd had enough of letting his fear and misery destroy him. He promised himself he'd be happy again.

He took his jacket off as he entered the door and closed it behind him. The house was dark except for the light that dim light that shone from the kitchen. He'd been caught.

Noah sat perched on a seat in front of the counter in his sleep shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his blonde hair messy from sleep. A glass of milk sat on the surface in front of him. Peeta put his cold hands in his pockets and gingerly made his way into the kitchen, trying desperately to form the explanation in his head. The two brothers looked at each other with tired eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" Peeta asked, unsure of what else to say.

Noah glanced at his glass of milk and shrugged. "Normally you get in before 3. When I didn't hear you crash through the house trying to be quiet, I got worried."

It's true. He wasn't exactly subtle, but he never knew he was loud enough to alert his brother, who he always tried to avoid waking or alerting or his comings and goings. A small part of him found the humour in it all.

"I didn't want to worry you," Peeta said quietly as he pulled out a glass from the cupboard and opened the fridge to retrieve the milk.

"You know how I am," Noah sighed, taking a sip and setting his glass back down carefully, noting the vacant look in his brother's eyes. He'd seen that look before, it wasn't one he had come to like. He decided to let him off the hook, as he watched him pour himself a glass and take a seat next to him. "I know you can take care of yourself."

He'd forgotten that Noah always knew what to say to make him feel better when he was down. For the first time that night, he let himself smile. "Not as well as you think."

Noah chuckled. For the first time in months, he got to see his little brother for who he was. He watched the way the corners of Peeta's mouth turned into a half smile with that same look in his blue eyes. "You can always come to me with your problems, you know that right?"

Peeta felt his throat tighten, he suppressed the urge to cry and nodded instead. "What? Like my stupid guy troubles?" he chuckled, feeling the tears rise.

He laughed and wrapped moved his hand to wrap around the smaller man's shoulders. "That's what I'm here for."

He nodded again. Finnick's words echoed fresh in his mind, pleading with him not to leave. His own words and realizations replayed too. He knew whatever they had - that special feeling was now over, and he'd never see Finnick again. It was there in his kitchen, under the care of the brother who always looked after him that he let himself feel the full weight of his emotion, facing it one last time before he'd let it go for good.

He let Noah pull him in for an embrace and let himself sob in his brother's protective arms. He had lost too many people, he wouldn't lose the one that never left his side, and never would. He buried his face in the taller man's shirt, wetting it with his tears, listening to his brother tell him it was okay, and he was there for him.


	7. Surprise

**Author's Note: Just wanted to pop in and say that I will be changing the title of this story when the next chapter is ready. If you can't find _Chance Encounters_ it will be because it is under another title, what it will be called, I'm not sure yet, I'm just unsatisfied with the title of this story which was hastily named. Just look for an M rated story with Finnick O. and you'll be fine. I enjoyed reading your reviews from my last chapter, keep them coming and by all means tell me if something sucks. I've already reached 4,000 words for the next chapter and I still have more to add, so hopefully next will be a lengthy update which I will have up in no later than a week. Thanks for reading. Enjoy.**

* * *

It had been a week since Peeta last had anything to drink. By no means did he consider himself an alcoholic - to fall under that category would imply an addiction to alcohol, which he did not believe he had. Alcohol provided him with an outlet to escape his many difficulties and troubles. There was no doubt in his mind that if he didn't stop drinking when the dreams or memories would come, it would certainly become an addiction he didn't want to add to the list, especially given his growing dependency on it. At times it became a struggle to keep away.

The revelation he had the week earlier had been a good one, even if it came at the cost of turning his back on his lover. His birthday was approaching, and although it would be the first time he marked the occasion without his parents, he was determined to get his life back of track. He had already started by reconnecting with Noah and fought the constant urge to drink. Now he could only hope by his 19th birthday he would be heading in the right direction.

What if it wasn't enough? The frustrating question had a way of bellowing in the back of his head, nagging at him to the point where he had to shut his eyes and really take a hard look at his life. He would always remember the day he gave up and threw his life away, and the growing fear that he would never be able to pick up the pieces and be happy again, despite how desperately hard he was trying. Although he knew things would get better, deep down in the scary part of his head, he was terrified things wouldn't. It was moments like those Peeta would envy others, his brother particularly and how he managed to handle the death of their parents without letting it take a drastic affect of his life.

He had seen the toll their death took on Noah, and the responsibility that was suddenly thrust upon his shoulders. Noah channelled his grief into his work, primarily the assets and liabilities of their parents estate as executer of their will. On more than one occasion, Peeta witnessed his brother quietly sobbing over legal documents in the study late at night. Too caught up in his own grief, he ignored it and went back to focusing on his own loss, his own pain.

A predominant image would always haunt him, that of Noah sitting by the hospital bed of his brain dead mother, grasping her cold, lifeless hand in both of his own and sobbing into them for some time, before slowly composing himself and reluctantly giving the doctor permission to turn off the life support machine that kept her body alive.

It wasn't until the funeral that Peeta had decided he hated his brother and everything about him. His vacant stare as the coffins were lowered into the empty graves, silent, unmoving, refusing to shed a single tear. It made Peeta seethe silently as he grasped Cato's offering hand tightly.

When Noah moved back home, Peeta was furious at the suggestion of selling the house. Although now haunted with memories and filled with grief, it was still his home, the place he grew up, where he was almost safe from the world. The suggestion resulted in a heated argument, mostly fuelled by Peeta's drunken state, ending with Noah and a bruised eye. It wasn't until he struck his brother, that Peeta realized in a way he'd been given permission to. Noah stood before him, hands by his side, providing him with an outlet for his rage. The older brother was clearly doing what he thought he needed to for him, giving him someone to hate, someone to target and unleash his anger on. Peeta instead turned his back and left the house for two days.

In hindsight, Peeta appreciated it, right before he went back to hating himself.

Their relationship had started to improve in the last week. Noah was kind to him, pretending the damage he had done over the months hadn't made an impact on their bond. He patiently listened as Peeta apologized and promised to get better emotionally. Contrary to his brother's forgiveness, the guilt of the things he said that could never be taken back and the action's he took that he could never forgive himself for festered deep within himself. He didn't want support, didn't want to be told it was all okay and exonerated. He wanted to pay the price.

Noah simply shook his head and patted his back. He couldn't do anything more than forgive.

* * *

He had been working since 6. He checked the clock again to confirm it wasn't even 9 yet, much to his disappointment. The morning had dragged on slowly with a steady stream of customers, despite how busy he had kept himself he knew he was in for a long day. Left alone to run the store while his boss ducked out, Peeta was made to work at the front, a task he hated. He didn't want to make coffee or talk to customers and exchange their money, it was the only part of his job that he truly hated. He would much rather be in the kitchen with his fists moulding dough. He contemplated sneaking out back for a cigarette - the one small relief he had left. He stood at the register behind the glass display cases filled with various baked goods made with his own hands and watched a handful of pedestrians ignore the entry, giving him nothing to do but wait for his break and continue his humdrum routine.

On the back of a napkin he started to sketch a design for the birthday cake he was going to make himself. The irony of having to make the cake on his birthday was not lost on him, but since he had turned 16 and begun learning the trade he refused to have it any other way. His own creation was always what he preferred and what he considered superior. Each year he managed to top himself, this year would be no exception. He continued to sketch what turned out to be more than a simple birthday cake. The ingredients began to compile in his head as did the dimensions. Surely less than half would be consumed, the rest would end up refrigerated for a week, but the idea of making it made him smile. He didn't care that no one besides his brother would appreciate his creation, given the lack of extended family or friends, this was his birthday present to himself, something special to mark the occasion and prove to himself that he could change and things could get better.

The sound of the door being pulled open and the ring of a bell snapped Peeta out of his fantasy. He gaped when she walked in and smiled at him, completely unaware of who he was and the role she played in the last week of his life. He recognized her immediately. Tall, long blonde hair pulled tightly back, beautiful and well presented. She was the woman he saw kissing Finnick, his special friend, the one who made him sick.

"Hello," she said politely as she fished in her handbag for her purse, keeping her eyes on the display case, occasionally glancing up at Peeta with a small smile.

He watched her questioningly, studying her long legs and delicate hands. He knew things about her he probably shouldn't have. He knew she worked close, because Finnick worked close. He knew she was with Finnick when he was with him. He knew it had been going on for a little while. Without knowing it, this woman had twice come into his world.

"Can I get a large coffee and one of those cinnamon bun things," The woman asked, pointing at the glazed cinnamon buns behind the counter.

Peeta turned, only to find the coffee pot empty. He spun back to her, still surprised to be seeing her. "It'll be about five minutes for me to put some fresh coffee on, if you're happy to wait?" he asked carefully, hoping she would frown and walk away immediately.

She checked her watch while retrieving her purse. Once again she smiled at him, "I've got a couple of minutes."

The many questions he wanted to ask her piled up in his head. Peeta wanted to know how she felt about Finnick. Did she love him? Was what they share deeper than sex? Was there an emotional component to their relationship? Did Finnick ever mention him or someone special that he described caring for? He turned his back to her as he filled the coffee filter and turned it on. Without making any eye contact, he reached for the cinnamon bun with a pair of tongs and placed it in a small brown bag.

He thought for a moment, carefully constructing questions in his head that would answer his own without prying or crossing any boundaries. "Do you live around here?" he asked nonchalantly.

The woman was distracted by the imminent vibration of her phone. She casually glanced at what Peeta assumed was a text message.

"No," She replied distractedly, eyes still locked on her phone, "I work a few blocks away."

Peeta's heart sank at the answer. There was no doubt in his mind that she had just spent the night with the man he loved. It wasn't even 9 yet, there was no other conceivable reason she would be in his shop so early unless she had come from Finnick's apartment.

Preoccupied with her phone, she turned her back on him. Peeta immediately caught the scent of her perfume. She smelled vaguely like pine needles. It was beautiful. Was this how Finnick liked his women? Attractive, sweet smelling and proper?

Blue eyes raked the nape of her neck as he fantasized about what it would be like to be with her. Peeta felt his heart skip a beat at the thought and the arousal he felt from her. He was unable to figure out where his sudden attraction for her stemmed from, it felt foreign and unfamiliar to be attracted to a woman. He felt another burning question entering his mind, what was Finnick like when he was with her? Did he laugh when they rolled between the sheets? Did they stay up all night talking? Did he hold her as they slept? He wanted to know if Finnick was the same way with her, or was it only for him?

It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't attracted to her. He was attracted to the knowledge they shared a lover. A movie played in his head of the way Finnick's skin tasted under his tongue, the curve of the man's hips in his palm, the sweet sounds Finnick made as he pushed his way in. The idea of sharing a woman with Finnick turned him on. A vengeful part of him wanted to indulge in the hurt that the man would feel, but Peeta pushed those thoughts out of his head, he was too afraid to feel that cruel, despite reminding himself that he had fallen in love with the man only to have his feelings rejected. If anyone had the right to feel hurt it wasn't Finnick.

"It's gorgeous," The woman said, snapping his divided attention back to her, "The cake."

Peeta looked down at the counter at the sketch of the cake. He smiled a little too widely, "Thanks. Work in progress."

She took a step back, eyes travelled across the glass cases at the various cakes, freshly baked and meticulously decorated. "Did you make all of these?"

"Yeah," he replied, reaching for the coffee pot, half full with a generous amount of steaming coffee. The sound of Peeta filling up the coffee cup diverted the woman's attention back to him. "What's your name?"

The woman looked at him questioningly for a moment, taken off guard by how forward his question was. "Johanna."

"I'm Peeta," He smiled and carefully secured the plastic lid on the cup before handing it to her. "Can I take you out to dinner some time?"

She hesitated for a moment as she pulled a note from her wallet, "That's really nice of you," she paused, smiling politely, "I'm seeing someone at the moment."

"Oh, okay," Peeta embarrassingly mumbled, "Sorry."

"Don't be," she replied in an assuring tone. Taking her coffee and paper bag, she placed a $20 note on the counter. "Thanks. Keep the change."

All he could think to do was smile and nod warmly as she turned to leave.

He wasn't even sure if or how to act on the proposition had it been accepted, but as the door shut behind her, he felt angry, angry that she turned him down, that she was supposedly seeing someone, that it could be the man who made it clear he didn't have room in his life for anyone.

Peeta didn't know wether or not to assume she was telling the truth, or lying in an effort to avoid hurting his feelings. If the woman was in a relationship with someone, it may not necessarily be with Finnick. He was making too many assumptions. He angrily placed the bill in the register and slammed it shut as he desperately fought the urge to raid the ingredients cabinet in the kitchen for the bottle of rum there.

* * *

Finnick sat in his bed. At first his eyes were glued to the television screen in an attempt to distract himself from the nagging pinch of frustration he had felt in the last week. Despite his best attempts, his mind would divert back to thoughts of Peeta and how they left things.

Johanna sat on the edge of the bed, carefully painting her toenails jade green.

"Do you want to grab some breakfast?" Finnick asked casually, finding himself somewhat embarrassed by the question, and the tone he used to ask it.

"I'll just grab something on the way out," Johanna replied without breaking concentration from the task she was currently preoccupied with. "No offence, but all you have in your fridge is beer and a carton of milk." She turned her head to smile at him good naturedly.

He chuckled and rose from the bed. "No, I meant go out. Surely there's a place around here that do eggs and coffee."

She looked up at him, "You actually want to go out for once? I always figured you for a hermit."

"Well, I guess I'm full of surprises," Finnick replied, opening his closet and fishing for some clothes.

Her eyes still locked on him, she raised her eyebrow, "Last time I suggested we go out together you freaked out."

"I didn't freak out," he said, pulling on a pair of trousers and closing the gap between them in a few steps. "C'mon, do you want to go or not? It's just breakfast."

The blush that crept into her cheeks was unmistakable. "I know a good place. The coffee is pretty bad though."

Finnick watched as she excused herself to the bathroom a little way past the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Is it around here?" he asked, unable to contain his grin.

"A couple of blocks away, maybe you've seen it," she called, "It's the white one on the corner."

His heart skipped a beat. It took him only a moment to put the pieces together in his head and once again, he thought about Peeta and how he hurt him. The very thought of showing up at his place of work where he would undoubtedly be on a Saturday morning, with the woman who unknowingly played a part in the demise of their affiliation made his stomach twist.

"How many times have you been there?" he asked firmly enough to avoid arousing any sort of suspicion.

The sound of the shower filled his ears as she spoke. "Only once, a few days ago on my way to work. Just after you left."

Finnick frowned, the idea of two separate people linked through him coming into contact made him anxious. Peeta would have recognized her. Her presence would have only served to hurt him. He made his way to the bathroom, pushing the door open slightly and leaning on the door frame. He avoided her gaze as she showered.

"I don't want to go there," Finnick said, cracking his knuckles and staring at his feet.

"Okay," Johanna replied as she stood under the warm needles of water. "Might be kind of weird anyway."

"Why do you say that?" Finnick asked, gaping at the comment, horrified that the tale of the last week may be knowledge to her.

She chuckled, "This guy who works there kind of asked me out."

"What guy?"

"A blonde kid who draws cakes."

Finnick was furious. Was Peeta playing a game with him? Using her as a proxy to somehow hurt him? Get under his skin? There was no doubt in his mind.

His phone sat on the nightstand by the bed. Finnick made his way over, following his blind rage and listening to the voice in his head that told him to break the silence and make contact with Peeta, learn his intentions and demand an answer to explain his actions.

That was when he realized how much he missed him, and how the notion of Peeta wanting to move on with anyone else besides him hurt. He had refused to offer the man what he wanted and was now offering it to someone he didn't care about. The familiar contradictory ideas of happiness entered his thoughts. Finnick knew he was no longer happy leading the life he was. He wanted to remain unattached and alone, but he wanted Peeta more.

Grasping the phone in his hand, he scrolled through his contacts. There he was, his name boldly displayed with an image of the two of them. They looked so happy, and for a very brief period they were. Peeta lying in his arms, his blonde hair messy, hanging over his forehead with a genuinely happy smile on his face as Finnick's lips gently kissed his cheek, his free hand caressing the blonde locks. The memories of that morning when Finnick had impulsively decided to let the walls down and take a picture to remember the occasion felt so real that he hoped he would turn around and find the man in his bed, yawning lightly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He didn't know what he wanted anymore and he couldn't be sure of anything, only that it was for the best. As much as it hurt to think about, it was a blessing in disguise. He would only make Peeta unhappy because he couldn't change. Even if they could make things work, Finnick was more than secure in the knowledge he would inevitably fuck things up. Unless he was completely confident in his ability to love Peeta the way he deserved to be loved, he would break his fragile heart. He knew he couldn't put the man through it all again as much as he knew he himself couldn't bear losing him again.

He took a deep breath before deleting all of Peeta's details, sighing to himself and wondering how long it would take to erase the memories of when they were happy.

* * *

Peeta pulled the bakery door closed and locked it behind him, bundled in his jacket, a scarf and beanie, he shivered at the temperature outside. A light snow had just begun to fall from the sky, gently covering the sidewalk. He checked his watch to confirm the time, 7:00.

He was 19.

The cake he had spent hours on sat in a box he held carefully in his arm. A gentle breeze of chilling air blew in his direction and he briefly considered calling Noah and requesting a ride, before deciding the long walk home might do him some good.

The streets were quiet at night with the exception of a few passer-by's with their dogs, but for the most part the night was silent and the streets dark. It wasn't until he reached the empty park that Peeta felt uncertain of his safety. To pass through the wide field cut a short distance off his trip, but the fear of being jumped in the darkness made him still for a moment.

The woods were dark. The moon shone just enough light for him to navigate his way through the sketchy, almost indistinguishable dirt path. He could feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket, no doubt it was Noah calling, enquiring about his whereabouts. Peeta ignored it. He would be home soon.

Snow started to fall harder and the wind had slowly begun to whip louder. He kicked himself for not securing a proper ride home, immediately regretting his decision to remain self-sufficient. He muttered under his breath, watching the cloud of air leave his mouth, indicating how cold it was. He shook his head and continued walking, clutching the box tightly at his side and reminding himself of how good it would be to get home, safe and warm inside.

His breathing became more ragged, the sound of another body following him was unmistakable. Telling himself it was crazy, he began walking a little faster.

The sound of someone approaching at a fast pace behind him made his heart stop. Without thinking, frozen in terror he stopped and turned.

"Hey there, lover boy," A familiar voice cooed.

A large frame dawned on him quickly and it took Peeta a second to place the voice, once he recognised it he didn't have time to react before the shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and took a firm grasp on both of his shoulders, shoving him roughly into a tree and kissing him. The cake dropped to the ground with an audible thump.

Taken off guard, he resisted and tried pulling away. The familiar strength mixed with the tender yet firm touch was something he didn't have to search too far in his memory for, it seemed like just yesterday.

"Happy Birthday," Cato said with a laugh. "Surprised?"


	8. Love Letters

**Author's Note: Back again as promised. I also changed the title of the story to something a little more fitting (to me anyway) This was actually one of the chapters I had the most fun writing, given the ammount of material and the characters I'm building into this arc, which is definately getting more intense. It's definately hard to keep my two main characters apart, I can only hope I've done it in a way that keeps the story interesting. I hope you guys like it. Read and Review! Cya soon!**

* * *

Just like his older brother had taught him all those years ago, Peeta threw all his weight into the punch. A sharp pain bloomed in his hand as his fist collided with Cato's nose. When the taller man stumbled back in confusion, inadvertently stepping on the white box that now lay crumpled on the ground, Peeta stepped forward and delivered another effective blow to the man's face with his other fist.

The tall man spluttered and bent forward, his hands covering his face, "Okay. I kind of had that coming," Cato groaned, cupping his nose.

Peeta grit his teeth. He felt himself seething at the sight of the taller man. His eyes quickly trailed to the ruined birthday cake on the ground. Keeping his anger in check was all he could do to stop himself from striking again.

"Do you think you're funny?" Peeta grunted as he felt his pulse continue to race, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Cato replied defensively, checking his nose for any signs of blood with the tips of his fingers. "It mostly worked."

"You're a fucking idiot." He shook his hand quickly, wiggling his fingers in an attempt to eradicate the pain.

Cato looked at him with the all too familiar look of tepid humour. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

The truth was he didn't know how he felt. Shocked crossed his mind before he realized it was too underwhelming a word to describe how it felt to be shoved against a tree and kissed by a man he hadn't seen in months. In the woods. Out of nowhere, in the middle of nowhere.

"What are you doing here?" Peeta asked, frustrated, his mind still reeling.

Cato shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's your birthday," he replied matter-of-factly. "I missed you."

Peeta scoffed, blue eyes once again trailed down to the ruined cake. "Yeah. I bet you did."

The smaller man turned and continued walking as Cato followed him, a few steps away, keeping a very short distance between them and once again inspecting his sore face for any signs of blood.

"You didn't answer my question," Cato huffed, trying to catch up, finding his injuries slowing him down as low hanging branches hit him in the face as they rapidly walked on.

Peeta shook his head, "I'm not talking about this with you. I'm going home."

"Can I come?" He asked with a smile, "It's been a while."

"Three months."

"Who's counting?"

They walked in silence for a little while. Peeta, angry and confused that he was being followed, suppressing his inner-joy at his return while furious at his disappearance in the first place and Cato, laughing to himself at his failed romantic surprise and overjoyed to see the man he loved again.

Before too long streetlights and mailboxes came into view and Peeta was relieved that he was almost home, less so that he was now without the cake he worked so hard on with an ex-lover in tow.

"Hey," Cato said, grabbing the smaller man by the shoulder and slowing him down. "I'm sorry."

Peeta shrugged him off and kept walking, "Please just get the hell away from me. What did you think would _possibly _happen?"

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," he answered, grabbing Peeta's arm once again and slowing him down. "Can't we skip this whole thing?"

Peeta turned on him "I'm _not_ happy to see you." The lie felt so good he wanted to believe it was true. The hurt look that passed across Cato's face pleased him. He wanted to hurt the man as badly as had been done to him. "Did you really think you could just turn up out of the blue, with no word in months? Did you really think I wouldn't be hurt that you just took off?"

Unsure of what question to answer first, or how to answer them, Cato hung his head and reached for Peeta's hand, only to have it smacked away. "What can I do? I promise I'll explain everything."

"Like what?" he asked, holding his hateful stare. "Why the hell did you leave me there? Fuck, I was so scared and all I could think about was you!"

"I know-"

"-You didn't care then. Why do you expect me to believe you care now?"

Once again, he didn't know how to answer. Peeta turned away and continued walking. Cato frowned, wanting so badly to make amends but unsure if he could do anything to fix what he had smashed into a million pieces. He was anything if not persistent. He was also good at being a hypocrite and decided he would not let Peeta walk away from something they both built, that he himself had walked away from.

"Please," Cato called, walking after him. "Just give me five minutes. Please, Peeta."

Peeta stopped. He was hesitant for a moment. As the snow continued to fall, he shut his eyes for a moment and let the sadness of the past year that he had tried to get past wash over him. He opened his eyes and turned back to the man a few feet from him. Cato had hurt him. His reckless abandonment played a part in making him turn to the unloving arms of Finnick, who he now knew would never love him, would never care about him the way Cato did when they were happy. For a long time, Cato was a constant in his life. Until the day he decided not to be, Peeta couldn't breathe without him. Now after the storm had finally begun to pass, he was getting a piece of the life he used to have back. The life he wanted so badly. Peeta knew he could forgive him.

He sighed and nudged his head in the direction that led home. Cato smiled at him thankfully, closing the gap between them in a few steps.

As they continued walking, the taller man chanced a move by caringly reaching for Peeta's soft hand, and lacing his fingers through it.

"Did you make a cake?" Cato asked sheepishly.

"Can you stop talking until we get home?" sighed Peeta, letting his hand go.

The two men walked in silence the rest of the way. Anxious to get home, out of the cold and to the bottom of Cato's reasoning, they walked at a fast pace. Occasionally his shoulder would brush against the taller man's arm and the lightest of any physical touch or contact would be felt on his skin for minutes. Besides the silence, the entire walk felt so familiar, only missing the loud drunken behaviour. It felt nice to be reminded of a time when Cato would take his hand and walk him home. It almost seemed as if time hadn't moved them both on. It seemed as if Cato had definitely decided to play his return that way, by brazenly reappearing in his life as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed. The thought of it made Peeta angry, but it was still nice. He was no stranger to distorting the truth.

By the time they reached the front door, Peeta's fingers felt numb. Cato, too was visibly cold despite his effort to hide it. Opening the door, the warmth inside his house was inviting and an instant relief.

"I can't imagine Noah will be too happy to see me," Cato said softly.

Peeta shot him a look as he hung his jacket on the coat rack and removed his gloves and hat, "That would make two of us."

Cato blew off the comment, taking offence to it all the same. "Jesus," he hissed quietly, "Can you at least hear me out before you write me off as the worst person in the world?"

He didn't reply.

They walked down the hallway, past the living room and stairs to the kitchen. Peeta immediately noticed the small wrapped box on the counter next to a red envelope with what he assumed was a card inside. He smiled to himself and wondered what it could be, recalling his gift of a car in need of restoration the previous year.

As Peeta moved for the fridge and Cato gingerly took a seat at the dining table, Noah's footsteps descending the stairs were heard.

"Happy Birthday man," Noah called as he moved down the hallway and into the kitchen, missing the sight of the tall man at the table. "I knew you were working the late shift tonight, so I thought now would be a good time to-" He immediately noticed Peeta's half smile and shrugging shoulders. "What?"

He followed Peeta's gaze and turned around. He could feel his own eyebrows furrow. "Cato," he nodded in acknowledgement, turning back to his brother and shooting him a questioning look, only to have the same look mirrored back at him.

"Yeah, I've been getting that look a lot tonight," said Cato in an ill-fated attempt at humour.

Peeta noted the look of concern in his brother's passive face and turned to him. "Can you wait for me upstairs?"

His presence had shifted everyone's mood. "No problem," he replied casually, the note of awkwardness in his voice betraying his confidence. "I'll just be…yeah…upstairs," he stammered, pointing his finger up and quietly exiting the room.

Both men stood in silence for a moment and listened to the sound of retreating footsteps. When Peeta was sure the man was out of earshot, he retrieved the carton of milk from the fridge and closed it behind him. Noah handed him a glass from the high cabinet before leaning over the counter. Peeta took a seat on the opposite side and poured his glass.

"No cake?" Noah asked after a silent moment, still unsure of how to approach the situation.

Peeta took a sip from his glass, "I didn't have enough time. Work was pretty busy tonight." He found himself lying already, unsure wether or not he wanted to disclose the fact that Cato ruined it. It seemed as though mentioning it would merely add more fuel to the fire. He knew Noah didn't need another reason to think poorly of the man upstairs.

"What is he doing here?" Noah blurted, confusion and concern still covered his face.

"I don't know," Peeta replied defensively, noticing the look in his brother's face accusing him of not being completely honest. "I really don't. He just showed up tonight on my way home."

Noah nodded. "Are you two-"

"-No." He knew what the question would be. Even if he was wrong in his guess, he knew any question associating he and Cato couldn't be true. "I really don't know anything. Where he's been, why he's really back. This all just happened half an hour ago."

"Do you really think you should be seeing him now?"

"What else am I supposed to do? He's here."

"Do you want him here?" Noah shot him a knowing look.

"I don't know." He held the gaze. "I need to think about things. Nothing's happened yet. Jesus, are you _not_ getting that he just showed up? I didn't plan this."

Noah crossed his arms and sighed. "It's just that… after everything you told me about Finnick and what happened, the fact that you're unsure of what's going to happen, that you'll even consider hearing him out is troubling."

"What does that mean?" Peeta asked, taken off guard by his brother's accusatory tone.

"It means that I think you're lonely. That despite the effort you're making, you're still not thinking clearly. And to be honest, I'm concerned that you'll jump at the chance to get back together with him when he spoon feeds you a bullshit story as to why he left in the first place."

Feeling insulted by the comment, he couldn't help but feel angry even as he recalled how quickly he let his heart run after Finnick or running into Johanna and propositioning her. Noah was right. Every single word of it was right on target. Since Cato had left him, he'd been trying to fill a void in his life. Peeta didn't know if he was angry that it was the truth, or angry that his brother knew him better than he knew himself.

"I don't want him staying here," the older man said carefully. "I'm serious. If he's going to be around you need to be careful, you can't go back down that road with him again."

"What road?" Peeta found his voice raising a little, "Being a big fuck up? Or getting fucked?" he spat bitterly. He was completely aware of how he sounded and the venom in his tone, but he didn't like the question and the implications that came with it.

Noah looked at him angrily, "Both."

The younger man made a note of the vein in his brother's temple and the anger in his voice. He didn't know what he wanted, but it definitely wasn't an ultimatum.

"I won't let him take you back there, Peeta," Noah continued, speaking in a calmer but firmer tone. "If you think I'm going to sit back and wait for you to get arrested again, or watch as you turn into a cokehead you're out of your mind."

It was a side to Noah that Peeta rarely saw. As he looked up from his glass of milk and into the blue eyes that looked almost like his own, he knew the man was serious.

"I mean it. If it happens again, I'll kill him." Noah didn't make threats. But Peeta knew it wasn't an empty one.

Peeta nodded his head, anger gone and feeling a little scared by his brother's words. "You have to trust me. I'm not going to screw things up this time. I don't want to be that guy anymore."

"I do trust you," Noah replied, "It's him I don't trust."

"If we do manage to work this out… I'm not saying we will, but if we do, it won't be like last time. I'm not using anymore, I don't think he is either."

"You don't know that. You haven't seen or spoken to him in months."

"It won't happen again because I won't let it happen," Peeta replied, "If things don't work out it won't be because of any of the crap I was using."

"Okay," Noah looked at the counter and nodded. "Just remember to come to me if things get bad. And if I catch you using again, I'll kick your ass. You know that right?"

"Yes," he said with a nervous drum of his fingertips. He swallowed the lump in his throat, "It wasn't him. It was me."

"What are you talking about?"

Peeta sighed, always hating to bring the topic of his dark days up with the brother he put through hell. "After mom and dad died, I was the one who came to him and asked for the stuff. I wasn't just going along for the ride. Cato was trying to keep up with me."

Noah frowned in disappointment, trying his best to constructively reverse the blame and keep it directed at the person he deemed responsible. "He was getting it for you. You were in grief, he should have known better than to screw with your head the way he did."

"Yeah, but I was the one who decided to do it," Peeta replied, surprising himself at the lengths he was going to defend someone who hurt him. "In hindsight, it was wrong, but you can't blame anyone but me for my actions. I know you're my brother and it's your job to defend me, but you can't here. I knew what I was doing the whole time."

"Okay," said Noah replied with a sigh, "You're not telling me this to defend him are you?"

"No," Peeta replied with a shake of his head. "I'm trying this new thing where I hold myself accountable for my mistakes. Next, I'll try working on my selfishness."

Noah laughed and gently shoved his shoulder, "Look at you, growing up."

Peeta's eyes trailed to the small wrapped box on the counter, next to the red envelope. "What did you get me?" he asked with a smile?

"Open it," sighed Noah, crossing his arms in anticipation, a large grin brightening his features.

Peeta slowly pulled the wrapping off the small leather box. He looked up at his brother for confirmation before opening the lid. A silver watch sat in the velvet lined box. He carefully pulled it out. Ticking sharply, silver and chrome, a genuine Rolex. "Holy crap."

Noah chuckled, amused at the reaction while at the same time complimenting his own gift giving abilities. "I thought you'd like it."

"Thank you," Peeta said, looking at his brother before turning his attention back to the watch, in awe of the gift.

"I rescued that from the snow." Noah nodded to the card, drawing Peeta's attention to it. "Found it sitting on the doorstep when I came back from work."

Peeta looked at it for a moment, "Probably a card from Grandma Mags," he chuckled, turning his attention back to the watch.

"She might have put $10 in it this time, after all you are 19."

Letting out a laugh, he smiled, admiring his watch and his brother, forgetting about Cato who was patiently waiting for him. "He's waiting for me."

"Right," Noah said, a little disappointment in his voice. "He killed our plans tonight." He grasped the carton of milk and returned it to the fridge. "I thought there'd be cake and openly mocking some stupid reality TV show."

"Sorry to disappoint," he replied with a raised eyebrow. "We'll do something cool tomorrow."

"Okay. Just remember what I said." Noah said with a pang of concern in his voice.

"I will," he replied as his ears pricked up to that familiar note in his words.

He anxiously walked away from where he sat, finding his stomach already in knots as he began to ascend the staircase.

* * *

"Do you have anything to drink?" Cato asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I don't drink anymore," Peeta said quietly as he sat on the window sill, admiring the way the snow felt heavier than it did a short while earlier.

The streets would be covered with snow come morning, the notion of a white Christmas would ordinarily make him feel giddy. It was the tall man sitting on his bed that stopped the rush of excitement. Cato looked at him patiently, ready to give him answers to the questions he didn't know if he wanted to ask.

Things were getting better while getting worse. A year could pass by in what seemed like an instant, leaving a long path of destruction in his life. The thought of confronting one of his problems directly and digging up strategically repressed feelings seemed daunting for that time of night, on his birthday no less. The idea of simply glossing over it seemed nice, pretending it didn't happen and continuing on none the wiser. Peeta knew he could never do that. The answers he wanted when Cato was gone were no longer a nagging pinch. Cato was in his room, on his bed, willing to explain it all away.

"Where did you go?" Peeta asked, eyes still focused on the falling snow outside.

"I went to stay with some friends," Cato replied, nervously running his hand up and down his thigh. "I wanted to come back earlier, but the longer I put it off, the harder it was to explain everything."

Peeta snorted an obnoxious laugh, "Can't argue with that logic, can I?"

"I know, it sounds stupid-"

"-That's because it _is_ stupid."

Peeta reached for the half empty packet of cigarettes that sat on his desk while Cato sat quietly, clearly uneasy with the direction the conversation was heading. As Peeta held the cigarette in his lips and lit it, he found himself enjoying the silent moments, enjoying watching the man squirm, all the while knowing there was a healthier way to handle the situation.

"Why didn't you call me?" Peeta asked, carefully exhaling a cloud of smoke out the window, knowing how much Noah detested his smoking indoors - or at all. "Taking off is one thing, but you completely disappeared."

"I didn't call because I didn't want to talk to you," he confessed, exhaling deeply as getting the words out in the open was a huge pressure off his shoulders. "I knew if I spoke to you, you would convince me to come back, and I would have been desperate enough to."

"How can you say that?" Peeta asked, mouth gaping and hurt. He knew Cato was about to confirm his worst suspicions, that he was the cause of their demise, that his attitude and personality had changed so much, Cato had to leave him. "What happened, what did I do that was so bad you took off without a word?"

"Shit," he sighed, running his hand across his tired eyes, "I couldn't take it anymore, Peeta. I didn't know how to handle all of it. You were just so unhappy…"

When Cato saw the hurt register on Peeta's face, he stopped talking. His own words were hurting himself as much as they were the man by the window. Peeta took another drag of his cigarette and looked to him, nodding his head once to continue.

"I didn't know what to do. When you would lie in my arms and cry, I could handle that. When you would sit here without talking for a whole day, I didn't know how to help you… and the worst part was, I don't think you wanted my help either." Cato rested his hands on his knees and hung his head, waiting for Peeta to respond. "It was almost impossible to help you when you wouldn't help yourself."

Peeta shook his head angrily, "So it's all my fault? Fuck you." He could hear his own voice raising, but he didn't care. He stood to his feet, flicking the cigarette out the window and moving over to where the taller man sat. "You didn't say anything to me and I wanted to get better, and I did without you. Are you really going to sit there and blame me for this?"

"I'm not blaming anyone!" snapped Cato, "I was failing you-"

"-So your solution was to take off?" Peeta interjected, "You think you're failing me? and leaving without so much as a goodbye makes up for it?"

"No!" Frustrated he slammed the headboard of the bed with his hand, silencing Peeta's berating. "I wasn't thinking clearly, in case you had forgotten we were trashed the night I left. I wasn't planning to leave until I did. I'd considered it a few times, but that night, you were so out of it you could barely walk, let alone run. You dropped in the alley, I tried to help you but you wouldn't get up, so I left. I figured there was no point in both of us going down. When I got home I started packing a duffle bag and I blew town without thinking."

Peeta crossed his arms and leaned his back on the wall, "While I got arrested," he spat, shaking his head, disgusted, "Shit, I can't believe I cried over you, that I was worried about you. You clearly had a different set of priorities. I was a mess, what the hell was your excuse?"

"A mess?" Cato repeated in disbelief, "Mess doesn't even begin to describe the way you were at your worst. You were so angry, the way you lashed out at everyone, you were a different person." He suddenly heard his own words and the way they sounded, he didn't like putting Peeta on trial, but he had to make his point. "It was only a matter of time before you turned on me." Cato almost choked the last words out. Defeated, he dropped his hands in his lap and sighed heavily.

"I know I share some of the blame in this, but it was your choice to take off," he muttered, agitated and frustrated, "God, you should have told me. I hate you for what you did."

Cato looked at him, gritting his teeth, "I couldn't stay. I knew if I stuck around I could never leave you in the state you were in. I needed to be away from you."

"So why the hell are you back?" Peeta raised his arms in frustration, "You needed to get away from me so badly, why did you come back? Why would you subject yourself to burden again, Cato?"

"Because I made a mistake," he said softly, rising off the bed and standing in front of the smaller man, "I missed you so much, every day I missed you. I couldn't breathe without you." He placed his hand along Peeta's jaw, rubbing gently, "I want us to be like we were a year ago. I'm so unhappy without you. Can't we just… start again?"

Peeta pushed him away gently, reminding himself of the hurt and betrayal he had felt for months. "No… no, I don't trust you anymore."

"You have to forgive me, Peeta," Cato said quietly as his eyes filled with tears while his hands grasped the smaller hips and held him against the wall.

He rarely saw Cato so vulnerable. "Why?" he asked with a croaked voice.

"Because I love you," the man answered, moving his lips forward to capture Peeta's mouth. After a few seconds of resistance, the smaller man opened his mouth, allowing Cato's tongue to enter his own. The large hands pushed into his hips, holding him still as their kiss continued. After a few moments, Cato pulled away, panting softly, "Do you still love me?"

"I don't know," Peeta admitted. It was the truth. He'd had a hard time identifying what feelings were real, and what were substituting something else.

"You have to know how sorry I am," he replied, pulling away, "Please. Give me a chance to make things right," he pleaded, reaching for Peeta's warm hand, grasping lightly.

Peeta stilled for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Noah thinks I have a tendency to jump into things impulsively… He's right. I think I need to be alone for a while."

Despondent, Cato released his hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not giving up on you, on us."

He leaned in for another kiss, which Peeta returned gently. Just when he thought he had started getting his life in order, life threw him another curve ball. When Cato kissed him, he knew he'd have to fight to resist him.

* * *

Peeta sat at the counter admiring his new gift. It took him a few moments to notice the red envelope in the corner of his eye. He placed the watch down and reached for the card, carefully opening the envelope and fishing it out.

The glossed card, plain white with the words _Happy Birthday_ printed on the front. He opened it. Blue eyes immediately widened when he realized who the card was from.

_**Peeta,**_

_**It hurts to write this because I know you never want to see me again. I'm still not sure what I wanted for us or what I wanted from you, but I will always regret the way we left things. I hurt you and nothing I say or do can take it back.**_

_**There are moments I want to call you, hear your voice and your laugh, and times when I want nothing more than to feel you in my arms again. I don't write this because I hope to change your mind about me, but to remind myself once more what it was like to be with you, how important it was, and how much I cared for you, before I let you go for good. **_

_**I can't change. I can't give you what you want, if I could I would be telling you this in person. I don't want you to change either, I hope you find someone who will treat you the way I couldn't, the way you deserve to be treated.**_

_**You are so special to me. Happy Birthday.**_

_**- Finnick.**_

Breathing slowly, he read the letter again, slowly and carefully in the hopes he misread it, missed the subtext, an underlying meaning in Finnick's carefully constructed words.

There was nothing more to it. Finnick wouldn't change. He ran his fingertips across the cursive black ink slowly as his eyes filled with tears, one stray tear rolled down his cheek and landing on the words. He had hoped for Finnick to ask for another chance, a promise that things would be different so he could finally return to his rightful place in his caring arms.

Finnick was going to move on now. The card was the man's final act before letting him go. Peeta didn't want to be let go, he just wanted the man's love.

He set the card down and buried his face in his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably for a little while. Wounds were still fresh and his heart still hurt. As he cried, Peeta told himself he would shed the last of his tears before he too, let go of Finnick once and for all.

He would only allow himself the relief of his tears for that one night, his birthday.


	9. Was It Worth It?

**Author's Note: Hi Readers. I'm not sure how many of you will enjoy this chapter, and although I would consider it partly filler, it does set up a story in this current arc. I wanted to go back and explore some backgroung into a relationship I have established as well as a prior event and shed more light on it while also telling it through another character's eyes. So as always, read and review. Warning: This chapter contains very cute and romantic dialogue... and sexually explicit material. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

Peeta sat at his desk, his legs outstretched with his ankles resting on the window sill, Sonic Youth played softly in the background. With a burning cigarette in one hand, his free hand struck a key on his keyboard as he journeyed back through numerous old photos featuring he and Cato. They were so in love then, he wondered when that stopped being true.

The card Finnick had sent him on his birthday sat open on the desk with a few creases in it from being handled constantly, read over and over again. Peeta didn't know how he could treasure a possession so fondly, yet hate the very sight of it so much. The card had rattled him which was more than a little disconcerting. It was clear to him that he wasn't moving on, that he wasn't ready to let go, given the way he broke into tears after reading the words over and over again.

He wanted to destroy it, burn it, be rid of it. It was nothing more than a gesture filled with sad words detailing why he could no longer be with the man he loved. Like rubbing salt on a wound, what was intended to be an apology was - in Peeta's head, morphed into a hateful act of malice.

Whenever he had a chance to think, distract himself and focus on anything else, Cato's words echoed in his head. _"I'm not going anywhere, I'm not giving up on us."_ The words repeated like a record jumping, the more he tried to forget, the harder it was. In the last week a question plagued him, one he constantly asked himself but could not bring himself to answer. Did he love Cato?

Cato had given him his space, calling only once, waiting patiently for Peeta to decide what his next move was. Despite trying to accept the notion of being alone, it saddened him to think how lonely he was without someone to call his own. He didn't like the feeling of needing co-dependence, in fact he hated it. But the loneliness was palpable and the more he thought about it, remembered what they were once like, the more he missed it and wanted it back so badly.

Maybe he could pretend like it didn't happen, that it was a bump in the road, a rough patch they needed to go through together to come out the other side stronger.

It sounded so stupid it couldn't possibly be true.

What was so bad about not being alone anyway? Cato loved him, still did, always would. Peeta didn't know what he was trying to prove with his refusal to forgive and forget, a sense of independence? To show others he didn't need anyone taking care of him? He already knew it was true, the idea of making himself miserable to prove something vapid to himself was what hurt more than anything else.

* * *

_Peeta laid on his back on the cold cement with his head resting in Cato's lap as he watched the stars, wide eyed and curious. Cato took another swig from the shared bottle as he stared into the bright blue eyes, chuckling to himself as Peeta continued his rant. _

"_Who would betray his beloved in their hour of need?" Peeta asked nobody drunkenly, "The veriest coward would become a hero! Equal to the bravest."_

_They sat on top of a water tower, a secluded space only for them amongst the trees. Cato stared out into the night, watching the peaceful dim surroundings as Peeta provided him with endless stories of his current fascination, Ancient Greek History. _

_Cato couldn't be sure what brought on the sudden interest, it could have been the History class they shared together, or the eccentric teacher who had a way of captivating the smaller man with his long teachings of tales involving love, gods and power, maybe Peeta really didn't want him to flunk their upcoming finals. Maybe Peeta was just a young man in love._

"_You're drunk," Cato chuckled, running his warm hand up through Peeta's shirt, fingertips brushing against soft, warm skin. _

"_Alexander the great fell in love with his boyhood friend, Hephaistion," Peeta slurred with a tilt of his head and a raised eyebrow, "King Cleomenes loved Panteus, the most beautiful, bravest, valorous youth of Sparta." A smile ran across his face, expressing his beautiful features as his fingers rose up to trace along Cato's full lips. _

_Closing his eyes, he leaned back on the guard rail while Peeta moved closer, tightening himself in the larger man's hold. "So what happened?"_

_Peeta sighed, his fingers wrapping around Cato's wrist as he looked up at him. "Cleomenes killed himself after he was exiled to Egypt. Panteus was so devastated upon finding him that he plunged a sword into his chest as he kissed his dead love in faithfulness and attachment beyond death."_

_Cato leaned down and kissed the smaller man's forehead, "You sound like an audio book version of the damn text book."_

"_I didn't learn that in class," Peeta replied, reaching for the bottle and taking a large swig, his eyes squinting at the harshness of the liquor before letting out a small cough as it went down. "But since you brought it up, what did Plato say the best kind of friendship is?" he asked, referring to the practice exam but asking that question in particular for his own reasons._

_He knew the answer already but kept it to himself for a moment as Peeta looked at him expectantly. "That in which lovers can have for each other."_

_Letting out a drunken laugh, Peeta sat up, moving his body into Cato's lap, the tips of their noses touched as his legs straddled the taller man's waist. "Socrates wrote-"_

"_-Who's that again?" he asked teasingly._

_Peeta looked at him unambiguously, "The Greek philosopher. He wrote that a lover feels the utmost joy when he is with his beloved and the most intense longing when they are separated. The pain is such that he prizes his beloved above all else, utterly unable to think a bad thought about him, let alone to betray or forsake him-"_

Cato cut him off with a kiss, brushing his fingers behind Peeta's ear. "You talk too much."

_Peeta smiled into Cato's lips, "In time, the beloved, who is no common fool, comes to realize that his divinely inspired lover is worth more to him than all his other friends and kinsman put together," he said softly, kissing Cato again, slow and chastely. His thumb wiped across the man's lower lip, "Neither human discipline nor divine inspiration could have offered him a greater blessing."_

_He smiled at Peeta for a moment, wanting to laugh at his drunken rambles, to be embarrassed even if it was only the two of them, but unable to feel anything but love for the boy. "I want to say something romantic but I can't top that."_

"_You can tell me you love me," Peeta said, moving his lips down to his neck, placing soft kisses there, whimpering softly as their bodies began rocking into each others._

_Cato closed his eyes again, his hands finding the button and zipper of Peeta's jeans. "I love you, Peeta."_

_Peeta stood on his knees, loosening his belt and pulling his pants down his thighs. He broke their kiss for a moment to remove his shirt, sighing heavily when two warm hands ran up his chest, back down to his hips. Peeta's thin hands reached for Cato's zipper, slowly pulling his pants down as their lips met again and Cato's hands pulled his body in closer._

"_I love you so much," Cato whispered before letting out a low whimper as Peeta's hand wrapped around him._

* * *

Cato stood in the cold, his hands stuffed in his pockets providing him little relief from the cold air he was surrounded by. He knocked on the door almost too softly, remembering a time he didn't feel like an unwanted burden, when he could simply knock and be welcomed into a warm house by the people who used to feel like a second family to him.

Peeta had made his decision, one he simply could not accept. As badly as he wanted to take back the hurt and the pain, he couldn't. Now all he could do was plead for forgiveness and beg for a second chance to make amends, no matter how embarrassing and foolish he seemed.

When the door opened, he was greeted by Noah's displeased face. He'd been expecting that, was it too much to ask Peeta open the door?

"Hi," he greeted, cringing inside at how ridiculous he must have looked, waiting in the cold for someone who turned him down. "Can I come in?"

Noah shrugged, trying his best to look indifferent, knowing his hostile feelings were already slipping through the cracks. He pushed the door open and turned his back, moving down the hall for the stairs.

"Thanks," Cato offered, unsure of wether he wasn't heard or just ignored. "It's freezing out." He looked at Noah, hoping for something, a response, acknowledgement, _something._

"Peeta!" Noah called up the stairs. He casually leaned on the banister, his blue eyes fixed on the taller man as they waited in the most awkward silence either man had encountered.

His body language, he abrasive attitude, even the way he watched him. Not staring, watching, as if the older man suspected him to be anything but good intentioned. Cato looked at the ground, finding it harder and harder to face him, even to the point of feeling a little intimidated. "Look man, I know you don't want me around-"

"-It's not up to me," Noah interrupted, tone less aggressive than both men expected. "It's Peeta's house too."

Cato nodded, eyes still glued to the ground. "If he wants me to go, I'll go. But if there's a chance for me… I can't turn my back on him again, even if he doesn't want me." He could hear the way he sounded, a little desperation blended with genuine remorse.

Noah set his jaw for a moment, considering all the things he wanted to say to the man. "Yeah, I know," he replied, offering only the smallest of gestures as he remembered a time he didn't dislike the man before excusing himself back down the hallway as Peeta emerged from his bedroom and stood at the landing of the staircase.

"Hi," Peeta said with a smile.

"Hey," Cato replied, smiling back.

* * *

"_So you're not even going to apply?" Cato asked, unaware that his mouth was gaping and his eyebrows were furrowed. He stood on the other side of the counter in front of the cash register, his arms slumping over the large metal contraption. _

_Peeta grinned from his place behind the register, "Why would I do that? Look around," he proclaimed proudly, gesturing his arms, "People go to college to get their dream jobs. I've already got mine."_

_Cato looked around as he closed his mouth. He saw a run of the mill bakery. Nothing special, very plain, exactly what a bakery should look like. A pristine glass display case filled with glossy cakes and delicious looking pastries and deserts in a wide array of baked goods, strikingly arranged. A few tables with chairs were situated in front of a large pane glass window beside the door. But he knew, this was were Peeta wanted to be. Peeta didn't see the crack in the beige wall by the entrance, he didn't notice the L shaped scratch in the counter, he only saw possibility. He was special that way, Cato grinned back. It made sense to him now._

"_So you're going to wash dishes for the rest of your life?" He asked smugly, leaning over the counter, inching his face closer only to be shoved back half heartedly. _

"_Screw you," Peeta laughed, cringing in faux disgust, "I can bake. It's what I'm good at."_

"_You're good at lots of things," Cato reminded with an index finger pointing upwards, "Don't you at least want to go to culinary school? Can you seriously tell me you're okay earning $7.50 an hour-"_

"_-You're forgetting tips."_

_He frowned. He could certainly support Peeta's reasoning. He was a simple man. He knew Peeta would never be a lawyer, a doctor, a CEO of a multi million conglomerate. The young man wanted nothing more than to have passion in what he did in life and a living. Cato admired that passion that so many didn't have and never would. But at what cost? _

"_You're too smart not to at least enrol for a year. Take some classes, feel things out. How do you know things won't change?" He asked with a hint of desperation._

_Peeta looked at him knowingly, a small smile appearing at the corners of his lips. "Thing's wont change."_

"_What if they do?"_

"_Cato," Peeta sighed, his smile wavered for a moment but didn't leave. "I'm happy here. The money is crap okay, but it doesn't matter to me."_

"_It should," Cato replied, feeling like what he said was a little too harsh._

"_Well, it doesn't," he said with a simple shrug. "When I get up every day, I'm happy. I have everything I want. I want to wake up every day and be excited to come here and do what I do best, and I am. I can work out the rest later. I don't want to waste any time being miserable trying to find my calling when I already have. I don't want to resign myself to doing something my heart isn't in for something as simple as money."_

_Peeta sighed and looked down at the counter. "I'm happy. Why can't you be happy with me?"_

_Cato thumped his chin up with his index finger, before slowly moving in and kissing him gently across the counter. "I am happy for you."_

_Peeta smiled back warmly, "Thanks," he muttered into the full lips that remained pressed against his own. _

"_What do your parents think?" He asked, pulling back and resuming his position leaning over the marble countertop. _

"_They think I'm crazy, which I can't really blame them for. When I'm running my own bakery they'll be salivating." He chuckled and quickly peeked his head in the direction of the kitchen behind him, hoping his boss wouldn't catch him slacking off._

"_What about Noah?" Cato asked, eyes eyeing the chocolate chip cookies predominately displayed directly beside him. _

_The smaller man tilted his head from left to right as if unsure of how to answer the question. "He's okay I guess. I expect he thinks he's going to have to write me a few checks from time to time, but we all knew he was going to be the big shot of the family."_

_Cato smiled as he idly let his fingers drift closer to Peeta's. "He'll probably talk your parents down."_

_"Probably," Peeta agreed with a nod as their fingers met across the counter. "Don't worry about me. Things are going to be good."_

_He truly believed they would be._

* * *

As they continued to kiss, Cato's large hand gently rested around Peeta's neck tenderly while the other slipped underneath the back of his jeans, gently caressing his behind. Peeta's own hands fisted in Cato's shirt, pulling at it forcefully as he fell back on the bed, pulling the large man down on top of himself.

It had been too long since Cato had a chance to kiss Peeta the way he wanted to, whenever he wanted to. He didn't take the opportunity for granted, knowing that it could end at any moment, he was lucky to be given a chance to go that far with him. He took what he could and treasured every second of it.

Peeta broke the kiss, furiously unbuttoning Cato's shirt and sliding it off but not before he let himself take a few seconds to shamelessly feel the curves and rips in the man's upper body, his strength and scent was more overwhelming than Peeta could remember. He shuddered as Cato's warm hand once again found it's way down his pants, wrapping around and pulling at him tightly. He looked into the man's eyes, watching each other as he was touched by expert hands that knew exactly what he wanted, exactly how he liked it. His breathing began to increase as the movement in his pants became more frantic. A gasp followed by a loud groan issued from his trembling lips and Peeta had to remind himself to be quiet, biting down on his lip. A slick wet sound in Cato's hand reached his ears as his pants turned into quiet moans. "Stop," he gasped, the words almost killing him.

Cato retracted his hand immediately, running it through his hair in confusion as Peeta collected himself. He moved in, kissing Cato's full lips slowly, his hands pulling at his own pants while he removed himself from the denim confines slowly, the larger man helped him out of his shirt. Peeta laid naked in front of Cato, desperately hard and stroking himself slowly as he watched the tall man smirk and follow suit, pulling down his pants and freeing himself before slowly moving in and wrapping hooking his arms underneath Peeta's shoulders, resuming their sweet kiss as he comfortably settled his weight on the smaller man.

"I missed this," Cato whispered fervidly, hot breath dancing on the shell of Peeta's ear.

Peeta smiled and shut his eyes, "So did I," he replied quietly as he rolled his hips upward.

They began to move together again, kissing anxiously as their groin's pushed close, Peeta squirmed for a moment as he adjusted to the weight and his hands clung to the large muscles in Cato's back. Cato pushed himself back up, holding the smaller man by the hip as he lined himself up with his entrance. As always, he looked down at Peeta as if waiting politely to go on, with a quick nod from the man he slowly pushed past the first ring of muscle, groaning softly. Once inside, he grasped the man's arm tightly before thrusting up and sheathing himself completely inside of him.

"Fuck," Peeta gasped, using both of his hands to pull the large form down on top of himself, his lips pressed against Cato's neck as his legs wrapped around his hips. His body involuntarily continued to buck against the larger man, moving his hips up and down slowly as Cato met his rhythm and began thrusting in and out. Peeta stared at him for a while, losing himself in ecstasy as the familiar pain began to diminish and the sublime pleasure settled in and took over. He smiled at the look of concentration in his eyes. He let himself remember how good it felt to be touched again. He was going to take what he could get, even if it was something he was unsure he wanted, from the only man he was unsure about.

* * *

_Cato didn't mean to hurt anybody. It certainly wasn't his intention that night. Fuelled by the intoxication of alcohol and the surge of adrenaline that the cocaine provided him he kissed the man he loved in a bar one night. His mouth opened against Peeta's, he thrust his tongue inside and tasted the warm caverns of his mouth, enjoying the sweet aftertaste of vodka. Deep and passionate, he wanted to do it forever. To Peeta, it was just another kiss, an afterthought. He watched his little blonde haired love slump back down in his seat, eyes half lidded, drowning the uncontrollable pain away in a hard drink._

_He frowned because he'd feared for quite a while that Peeta was indifferent to his presence, that the man wasn't as in love with him anymore. Nothing was ever enough, not the dulling alcohol, the euphoric drugs, not even his lips. He'd spent the past weeks mentally saying goodbye to him, wishing it wasn't true, telling himself it was all in his head. Peeta didn't have to say it, Cato knew it was already in motion. They were falling out of love. First Peeta, then him. Peeta's growing depression only fuelled the uncertainty._

_That was when the voices were heard from across the room. They sparked his attention immediately, and after a moment Peeta's too. Anger was a lethal substance to add to the list in his system that night. Cato wasn't sure if it was the taunting directed at him and Peeta, or his inner most fears about him coming to light, but he found his hands turning into fists quicker than they should have._

_A new fear introduced itself to him as the three men cornered them outside, eyeing Peeta over him. They were going to hurt him, the once almost innocent, optimistic and hopeful man he couldn't help but love. As his fists connected with their flesh, he kept an eye on Peeta, disorientated and clumsy but easily able to hold his own._

"_Get up, Peeta!" Cato desperately tried to get Peeta to move, yelling at him stridently, frustrated that the man was emptying the contents of his stomach in the back alley. "Get the fuck up! We have to go!"_

_As the sirens approached he panicked, pulling Peeta to his feet with blood stained hands and trying to bolt. They didn't even make a mile before Peeta gave up, falling to his feet and groaning in sickness._

"_I can't," Peeta whimpered, shaking like a leaf, "Please."_

* * *

He removed his hand from Cato's hair, letting it lie flat on his stomach and shuddering as he felt the man's warm breath tickle his thigh. An overwhelming sense of anxiety filled him as lips gently kissed his thigh, slowly moving up to the blonde patch of hair below his navel. He let his legs lie flat on the bed. Everything suddenly felt unwelcome to him, making him want to dress as he watched the larger man remove his face from between his legs and move to sit on his knees.

He laid back down, promptly pulling the cover over his naked form as Cato moved behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle and pulling him in tightly, their fast cooling skin stuck together as the man's lips kissed his neck.

"I love you," Cato said softly, pulling at Peeta's shoulder and moving him to face him. He kissed Peeta slow but passionately before staring at him, waiting as painful seconds turned into long moments. He noted the way Peeta looked away from him, knowing the words he wanted so desperately to hear wouldn't emerge from his mouth.

"Look…" Peeta said softly as Cato's hand moved off his shoulder and fell onto the bed.

"It's okay," he said. Peeta had admitted the way he felt by saying nothing, exactly what he was afraid of.

Peeta drew his knees to his chin and sighed softly, "I'm sorry. Things aren't the same anymore."

"Will they ever be again?" he asked, reaching out to hold his warm hand before placing his lips on it. "I know things have changed, I fucked it all up and I'm so sorry, but please tell me there's a chance for me to make things better."

Their eyes finally met. Peeta was silent for a moment, crafting his words carefully, deep in thought. "We can try."

It wasn't much, but Cato took it. At that point even the hope for something was something. "You can learn to love me can't you?"

Again, he was quiet for a moment, knowing his silence and reservations were killing him, but unable to help but tread lightly and not make promises he couldn't keep. "Yeah."

"Then we'll be just fine," Cato muttered, feeling his heart break a little only to be pierced by a tiny pang of hopefulness as Peeta leaned in and kissed him gently.

* * *

"_Please, Peeta!" Cato snapped in frustration. "I can't carry you! You have to run!"_

_Peeta's eyes closed. Cato knew he'd passed out, ignoring the horrifying thought in the back of his head that told him he needed medical attention. He looked up ahead, a faint glow of red and blue lights coming closer and closer as the whine of the sirens began drawing in on them. _

_He had no choice. He'd prepared himself for the time they'd have to part ways. Even without the drugs he'd supplied, Cato knew there was no healing Peeta. The irreparable damage had been done. He had tried so hard to fix him, mend the broken pieces every way he could, but it was done. He was beyond repair. Peeta had given up. He felt like he had no other choice but to do the same. He'd spent months caring about him, showing him the love he refused to offer anyone else. He didn't know if he had it in him to abandon him, not the way he was, not at all. But he was running out of choices quickly. _

_As Peeta laid semi unconscious in the deserted street, Cato took one last look before running away. _


	10. Someone Hard To Take The Edge Off

**Author's Note: Well Hi there readers. I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this story up for you. It's been what? Three weeks? Sounds long. Thank you for your reviews, I can only hope they continue to come in. I am still developing this story so please don't assume how it's going to end or what is in store for the characters next, you just may be surprised. I'm sorry this chapter can't be longer, but I am very happy with the way this chapter makes the story progress. Your reviews mean the world to me. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading and staying tuned. Enjoy.**

* * *

Peeta sat by the bar alone, deep in thought. A glass on single malt scotch sat in front of him, just out of reach of his fingers. He didn't intend to drink it, but having it there made all the difference to him.

The glass of scotch served as a reminder that things could change, but they didn't necessarily get better. He told himself it was just a drink, that he'd abstained from the liquid poison for long enough that one drink couldn't really help him, nor could it hurt him. But he knew better. It was a slippery slope, one that had taken him weeks to move past and regain some sort of semblance of who he wanted to be.

That was the problem. The more he fought to make things right, to cram the old pieces of his life back together, the more things would turn out differently than what he wanted, almost like a puzzle of which it's pieces did not fit correctly. His expectations were becoming skewed and now he didn't know what he could do to correct his life.

He wasn't sure wether he was safe from it anymore, that being the uncertainty and constant state of confusion at what his life was becoming. Peeta began to wonder what he really wanted, but his mind drew a blank. It seemed as if nothing, no man, no action, no words could make him whole and complete again. Too much had happened. A thought occurred to him, maybe he was destined to end up this way, constantly pondering every decision and life choice in hopes of one gesture making it all better again. It was as if his mind was ever in a state of complete uncertainty about everything, much like a piece of information on the tip of a person's memory, but unable to process.

Peeta was falling into a pattern, trying his best to reclaim old fragments of a time when he was happier and bringing them into his present world of unanswerable questions and complete and utter doubt.

He sighed and reached forward for the glass. He held it carefully in the palm of his hand. The smell was utterly intoxicating and familiar. He tilted the glass to rest on his bottom lip as he angled it up and the aroma of scotch filled his nose as the delicate amber liquid graced his lips. For a moment he set the glass back down with an audible clink. His scotch tinged lips twitched at the taste and Peeta reached for the glass again and tossed the rest of the drink back much to his satisfaction.

"Fancy running into you here."

Peeta was visibly startled as the words filled his ears. His hand automatically jolted and knocked the now empty glass over on it's side as he turned in his seat, his blue eyes instantly locked on the tall man he hadn't seen or spoken to in weeks.

"You scared me," Peeta said nervously, quickly reaching out and setting the glass upright as his eyes stayed fixed on Finnick, noting the usual charming smile was oddly missing from his handsome features.

"This seat taken?" Finnick asked politely, pointing at the row of empty bar stools waiting for a response for several delayed seconds as he watched the younger man contemplate how to respond. "I just saw you sitting here and-"

"-You can sit down," he replied, using his right leg to casually push the seat out invitingly.

His smile reappeared and Finnick nodded in acknowledgment as he removed his jacket and sat down.

Peeta immediately recognised the scent of his cologne, the tiny features about him that had started to fade from his memory came rushing back in an overwhelmingly arousing way. As he watched Finnick signal the bartender for two of the same drinks they shared over long nights, he remembered just how much better he instantly felt when he was in such a close proximity to him. His eyes trailed up the long arms that had spent so long rightfully wrapped around him caringly, the sea green eyes that had stared reflectively into his own, and the full lips that had placed kisses over his body on nights when Peeta felt exceptionally low, night's like the present.

"This is weird, isn't it?" Finnick asked, a light lilt in his voice suggest he found the humor in the situation.

"It is now," Peeta remarked, his eyes fixed on the glass and his lips pursed in a half smile. "It's good to see you," he commented softly.

Finnick took a slow sip from his glass, a mischievous smile crossing his lips, "What was that?"

"I said it's good to see you, Finnick." Peeta sighed and grinned to himself, completely oblivious of any of the worries in his life. At that moment he hadn't a care in the world.

Finnick nodded slowly and placed his glass back down on the bar, noting that Peeta hadn't touched his own. "It's really good to see you too."

The younger man watched him speak carefully. He noticed as Finnick's mouth opened to continue speaking, before deciding against it. He knew whatever the man was planning to say had been revoked. He also noted the subtle way he reached for his glass and took another sip that he was nervous. What could it have been? A secret desire to express affection, a thought or feeling better left on the forefront of his mind, not spoken out loud, subject to uncertain feelings and vulnerability.

"How have you been?" Finnick asked, breaking the silence and turning his attention to Peeta's blue eyes.

The younger man shrugged evasively, unsure of wether or not to reveal the truth. "I'll have to get back to you on that one. Things tend to always be a little complicated with me."

"Well," the man interjected with raised eyebrows, "Cut out the bullshit and lay it out for me."

The response forced the man to let out a sigh of relief. It was the same sort of effect the older man always had on him, to make him sift through the complicated layers and simply give him the motivation to find the root of his problems, even if there were too many to count.

"Do you think it's possible to love two people at the same time?" Peeta asked with his eyes fixed on the glass in front of him, noting how tightly his hands gripped it.

"You're asking the wrong man, Peeta." Finnick immediately felt a pang of hurt in his chest. He spent the next few seconds observing the younger man, watching his blue eyes slowly become more and more vacant, knowing it hurt him much more to summon the courage to ask the question. It was all too clear to him why such a question would be uttered. "There's someone else, isn't there?"

Peeta nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

"And what?" Finnick asked, almost bitterly, his somewhat cheerful demeanor had already vanished as he reached for his drink again. "You're not in love with me anymore?" In one swift motion, Finnick tossed back his drink and roughly placed the glass back on the bar.

The move startled Peeta who shot the older man an angry, unapologetic look. Finnick's apparent anger confused and bewildered him, making him nervous and more inclined to shut his mouth. It was only the man's perplexing demeanor and unjustified response that gave him the vengeful motivation to keep talking.

"That's the problem," Peeta mumbled, "I want nothing more than to forget about you, forget that I even met you and give my heart to someone else. I have somebody who loves me and I can't love him back because whenever I get a moment to let my heart catch up, it just continues coming back to you." He paused for a moment and let his eyes drop half-lidded, "I fucking hate you for that."

Finnick pursed his lips and scoffed sarcastically, "You hate me because you can't control your feelings?"

"No," Peeta murmured, "I hate you for not loving me back. I hate you for making me love you, making me think about you all the damn time with your fucking card and you showing up when I just wanted to be alone."

"Do you want me to go?" He asked, contemplating the answer he wondered if this would be the last time he saw the young man.

Peeta stared at him for a moment, he too wondering how his answer to the question could possibly impact his future. "No. I want you to stay."

Finnick nodded, his feelings still bruised yet feeling somewhat validated. "You have no idea how much I've missed you," he said without breaking his longing, lustful stare, "Do you want to come home with me?"

"And what would that accomplish?" Peeta asked with a frustrated sigh, "I can't keep falling into old patterns, especially not with you. You're bad for me and I'm bad for you."

"Bullshit," Finnick mumbled, sliding his hand closer to Peeta's arm and letting two fingers gently brush along it. "I want you now as much as you want me, that's obvious."

Peeta's fingers drummed along the side of the still full glass of scotch, he was surprised how accurate the man's observation was and how tempting the offer to be with him again was. He let himself consider the offer for a moment, "What about your girlfriend?"

"You mean the one you recognized and tried to pick up?" Finnick asked as he watched Peeta's face flush with embarrassment at being found out. "Johanna is not my girlfriend."

"Then what is she?"

"Like I already told you, she's my friend."

Peeta felt a headache approaching as their discussion continued. He knew no matter where it would lead, it wouldn't be a good place. He also knew their present encounter would more than likely be their very last. He had come to this revelation in the past, but they had both found a way to hurt each other some more, even after their brief relationship had ended.

"I'm seeing someone," Peeta replied after deciding not to go back down the path that led to debauchery and reckless behaviour.

"Someone you don't love," Finnick reiterated tiresomely. He felt his last fleeting hopes of a passion fueled sexual encounter disappear. "Why do you want to be with someone you don't love?"

"Why do you?" Peeta snarled. He finally reached for his drink, picking it up he watched the scotch inside swirl as the beckoning aroma reached his nostrils. He paused for a moment, "Just say it."

Finnick hesitated, looking into the pleading blue eyes, "Say what?"

"Tell me you love me," pleaded Peeta desperately, gripping the glass tightly. "Just say it so we can be together, so we can both be happy. I'm so tired of being miserable without you."

He didn't reply.

Peeta had never felt more unwanted and vulnerable as he did in that moment. Seconds turned into long moments of silence, his blue eyes still locked on the older man who didn't look back and still wouldn't tell him what he wanted to hear.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Peeta asked glumly as he picked up the glass and quickly swallowed the contents in a matter of seconds. He could immediately feel the alcohol travel directly to his head, causing him to feel light headed for a few seconds. "I'm so sick of feeling this way."

"I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear," Finnick offered, inching a little closer and resting his hand on Peeta's knee. He truly hated seeing the pain and sadness in the young man's face. "But I need you in my life, Peeta."

Peeta scoffed and pushed the hand on his knee away, "Well, you don't get me, you can't even love me."

"Maybe not," he replied almost coldly, "I don't care if there's someone else, I just need to be around you from time to time."

The younger man failed to see any sort of compliment in the proposal if there even was one, the request only served to mount on top of his many confusing problems. "Why?" he found himself asking after a beat.

Finnick's green eyes stared into the deep blue ones. In a moment of weakness, he reached out and brushed some of the blonde hair behind the man's ear as he allowed his fingers to linger for a little longer than required. "Because you're the best person I know. Despite what you may think, I'm better when I'm around you, and I need you around me from time to time… even if you are just my friend."

"We'll never be friends, Finnick," Peeta sighed as he turned in his seat and stood to his feet. "How the hell can you expect us to just pretend we don't have feelings and act like nothing happened?"

His arm reached out, his hand gripping Peeta's wrist tightly to stop him from getting too far away. "I don't. Just like I can't pretend you don't exist anymore. For better or worse, you're a part of my life now."

Peeta stilled as the words came out of Finnick's mouth. "Okay," was all he could think to say as the hand released from his wrist. "It's late, I should go."

"Okay." Finnick nodded and remained in his seat, a sad look washed over his face. He could hear the sound of footsteps beginning to retreat. He quickly turned in his seat, "Peeta, wait-"

"What?" he asked, confused.

He gaped for a moment, once again unsure wether or not to ask a question. "Do you really hate me?"

"I can't hate you." Peeta chuckled and shook his head. The smile felt immensely good, so did the flash of relief he witnessed in the older man's beautiful face. "I thought you were going to let me go."

Now Finnick wore a confused expression. "What?"

"In your card, you wrote that you were going to let me go. But now here you are again, here we are _again._"

The man paused for a moment, obviously having never given the matter much thought himself. "I came in for a drink and saw you sitting here looking so sad." He looked down at the floor, "I can't ever stand seeing you look that way… especially if I'm the reason, I figured maybe I could make you feel better."

Peeta smiled politely, "You did. Goodnight, Finnick."

"Night," he replied with a small smile as he watched the young man he was crazy for walk away. It felt very good to know he would see him again soon.

* * *

On a small quiet street surrounded by picket fences and bright street lights, Peeta sat down on a small white bench at a bus stop a few streets away from his home. He found himself still slightly shaken from his encounter earlier that night. Fortunately the same encounter seemed to have done him some good, the worries that had been driving him crazy for nights seemed like distant memories of problems that once were.

He'd come to this place for a very specific reason. Still uncertain as to what his next move would be, Peeta waited patiently, tired of weighing the pro's and con's he just wanted to do what felt right to him. His stomach was in knots as he felt the pressure mount of his shoulders.

Peeta smiled to himself as he saw Cato approach, emerging out of the darkness and into plain view, drawing closer with each uneasy step. "Took you long enough," he remarked as the tall man approached.

"I wasn't exactly expecting to hear from you at this hour," Cato replied as he gingerly sat down on the bench beside the smaller man. For a brief second it seemed as if on instinct he was going to place an arm around Peeta's shoulders. His hands instead remained in the pockets of his jacket. "I'm glad you called."

Peeta nodded, "Yeah, I figured we needed to talk about things."

"I know what you're going to say," he sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees, "After what happened with us… I know I had no right to say the things I did the other night-"

"What things?"

Cato paused for a moment and took a deep breath, "Telling you I loved you, putting you in that position."

It was a position Peeta was all too familiar with. As he listened to Cato's words, he couldn't help but sympathize with him. The pain of not having his feelings reciprocated was unbearable, he knew exactly how the man felt as he began to question his own moral fibre.

"I'm glad you said it, that you still feel that way," Peeta said evenly, "And I'm glad you're here."

A look of relief flashed over Cato's face, "I wasn't expecting you to say that."

Peeta smiled warmly. In an effort of kindness he leaned across and placed a light kiss on Cato's lips. As his eyes closed and their lips met, Peeta could only hope the gesture would be enough for the time being until he was finally able to summon his feels and tell Cato that he loved him.

"I don't want things to be up in the air with us," Peeta said softly, his lips and inch away from Cato's, "I want you to know I'm in this."

Cato's hand cupped Peeta's soft cheek, his thumb brushed the underside of his lower lip, "Can I ask what brought on the change of heart?" he asked with a happy lilt in his voice, "I mean, I thought you called me out here tonight to tell me you didn't want to see me anymore."

"I just realized how happy you made me." Peeta lied. Terrified of the truth himself, he certainly wasn't going to reveal the truth about the only man who had the kind of power to stir up such passion inside of him, the kind of passion Finnick had himself, the kind Peeta could bring to someone else.

Cato leaned in for another kiss, capturing Peeta's full lips with his own, cupping his jaw in one hand while his other fisted in the man's shirt. As Cato's tongue entered Peeta's mouth, he exhaled deeply through his nose as his mind tracked back to earlier that night. His heart began to beat faster, not because of the kiss he was receiving, but because of the promise that he would see Finnick again.


	11. Let's Be Bad

**Author's Note: I thought the idea for this chapter would be so easy. I had all the dialogue worked out, I had the structure of the story worked out, I thought it would be so easy to get what was in my head down in writing. It was a lot harder than I had initially thought. For this chapter I wanted to make use of all my established character's, but after having separated my two key players and expanding each of their world's I found it quite challenging to merge those two world's together, you'll see what I mean when you finish the chapter. You'll also see why I'm apologizing if things seem a little off in certain places. I tried to make it flow easily and there are a few parts which I feel were a little to rushed in an effort to get to crux of what this chapter is about. Having said that, I really like the dilemma's that Peeta and Finnick are facing. I like the notion that certain characters want to be responsible for their actions, while more mature character's with seemingly good head's on their shoulder's want to act more selfishly with complete disregard for others.**

**Sorry, I'm rambling. Enjoy the chapter. I know I say this every time, but I read your reviews and they mean so much to me. Thank you.**

* * *

Peeta entered his room shaking like a leaf. Wearing only a towel, he quickly moved for his bedroom window and shut it closed to prevent any more of the biting cold air assaulting his padded dry skin. He removed the towel and ran it through his wet blonde hair before letting it fall and stepping over to his dresser to remove some underwear.

He dressed himself in front of the mirror, even in a simple pair of jeans and shirt he paid close attention to his appearance. He was going to meet Finnick and found himself wanting to look good for him. As he scrutinized every possible imperfection in his reflection he continued to make excuses for his actions, reminding himself it was perfectly normal to continue seeking a plutonic relationship with someone he cared for so deeply. He reminded himself there was no fault in his actions or feelings, he simply couldn't throw it all away, not after discovering the ease of every day living after spending a short period of time with Finnick.

But like they always would, hidden truths came to the forefront of his mind. He sat back down on the edge of his bed as he continued staring at his reflection, seeing right through the guise of a content young man.

He wasn't seeking friendship. He knew that. Despite how well he could spin the truth and craft secure excuses, he would always know better. Peeta couldn't lie well enough to actually fool himself into believing them.

Finnick didn't love him. He wasn't that kind of man. Whatever little affection the man could spare was only dispensed privately, but in the most intimate ways. Ways that made Peeta's heart beat faster at the very thought.

It was the same tired question, the same old notion that filled his head. Maybe Finnick could learn to love him. Peeta knew he'd had some deep psychological trauma inflicted on him in the past, but simply couldn't understand how a near death experience could close someone's heart off to the point of it being almost non-existent. Despite his own pain and loss, it was the smallest of comforts to know he still had the will to feel that way for someone. It just wasn't Cato.

"Not yet," he mumbled, reminding himself of the promise he'd made to Cato recently, and the commitment he made to himself to try to reclaim those feelings lost long ago.

It had taken him a short time to move past a dark chapter of his life and the substance abuse that had been heavily featured. Now, he found himself addicted to a new drug, one he thought - or hoped, he was moving past.

He was painfully aware of the fact that he still loved Finnick and felt nothing more than a strong fondness for Cato. Peeta told himself that he would work on his feelings later, sort through the tangled mess later.

Slightly resolved with his actions, and absolutely determined not to lead his logic or feelings play with his heart, Peeta turned for the door, picking up his jacket on the way out and doing his best to quash the nagging voice in his head that reminded him that he was playing with fire.

"Peeta?" Noah called, pushing the door open just as his hand reached for the knob. "Cato is at the door."

* * *

Finnick noticed his hand trembling as he buttoned his shirt. The small, involuntary tremor was quite disconcerting to him. He had noticed the rhythmic occurrence only a few times in his life and it was always brought on by an overwhelming sense of stress or fear. He hadn't experienced the muscle contraction in years, not since he'd fired a gun for the first time.

Seeing Peeta made him as nervous and fearful as holding a weapon with the intention to cause harm to something.

He rolled his hand into a fist and ignored his feelings. The same feelings had grown in the past weeks, feelings Finnick had never felt before. They were still new and absolutely confusing to him. In truth, he wasn't sure if he welcomed those feelings or not. To him, Peeta was warm and gentle, solid and loveable with a divine heart. He hated having to break it not once but twice, as much as he hated being incapable of returning his words of love and sealing them with a kiss.

Those words had never been said by him before. If he couldn't say them to Peeta, would he ever be able to say it to anyone?

It was the first time Finnick had asked himself that question. He didn't allow himself to think about that any longer, afraid that he may not like the thoughts that followed it.

Walking back to the bathroom he sprayed a small amount of cologne around his neck. Peeta had once commented on how he liked the smell. He smiled to himself. Over the course of their time together he'd grown fond of the younger man's presence in his life and for the first time Finnick had grown used to what he would normally consider a distraction or unrequited affection. Deep down he knew he wanted it back.

Although he'd stipulated no commitment, Peeta still felt like something of his. He'd given the man absolutely no reason to stay, it was his complete lack of giving that drove him away, but the knowledge that Peeta belonged to someone else made him angry. He had no right to be, but the heart didn't follow logic or reasoning. It wanted what it wanted.

Since their last encounter Finnick had found his thoughts constantly turning back to him more than usual. A memory plucked from nowhere would distract him from his work, cause him to pause mid-sentence during a presentation or important call. He would find his hand reaching for his phone and dialing the number permanently stored in his memory but erased from his phone before snapping himself out of it and forcing himself to wait until their arranged date to meet. Not only was he surprised by the toll the younger man had taken on his life, but he was surprised how much he wanted it back.

A knocking sounded from his front door.

Finnick curiously made his way down the hallway and checked his watch as he passed. If he didn't leave shortly he'd be late. Turning the deadbolt and unlocking the door, he pulled it open and was greeted by a familiar smile, one he'd been avoiding. Johanna stood with her gracious blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders and a cocky grin in place.

"I was wondering when I'd hear from you," she hummed, cocking her head to one side and smiling seductively with her eyes.

Feeling somewhat flustered by her unwanted presence, Finnick took his only known stance when put in a situation he wasn't ready to handle. "What can I say?" he asked, wearing a charming but fake sly grin, "I've been busy."

Johanna rolled her eyes before strolling in, casually glancing around the apartment before turning and setting her eyes on Finnick by the door. "Am I interrupting something?"

Finnick ran a hand through his bronze locks, "I'm about to head out," he replied, crossing his arms impatiently.

A disappointed and slightly embarrassed look flashed across her face, betraying her confident demeanor. "Have you got a date?" she asked.

Her feelings, or sometimes lack there of, confused him. The way the woman would bounce between a beautiful temptress armed with the power to seduce him, to the woman he felt wanted something more was perplexing. She wasn't like Peeta though. Her warmth and tenderness were only a show to others, a guise she masked herself in to the outside world. He had seen her true colors. She wasn't sweet and gentle as he had originally thought her to be, she was cold and rough around the edges which made her real vulnerabilities completely surprising to him. He couldn't help but feel taken off guard by the question.

"C'mon Johanna," he sighed heavily, "You knew what this was."

She nodded impassively, "If this didn't mean anything to you, why have you been sending mixed messages?" she asked with a slight agitation in her voice.

"What mixed messages?" Finnick asked incredulously, resisting the urge to check his watch.

She shook her head, "I really don't understand you," she barked as she moved for the door. "You call me, ask me to dinner, take me out, then make me feel like I'm a crazy stalker bitch because you have a date."

"It's not like that," Finnick stammered as he asked himself why he wouldn't just let it go. "I'm sorry if I lead you on-"

She pushed past him on her way out the door, her shoes clicking loudly on the wooden floor surface sounding as furious as she was. She turned once, shooting him a look that made him feel small and hated.

"You really _are_ an asshole, Finnick," she snarled, glaring at him with complete and utter disgust. "I feel sorry for whoever has the misfortune of your company tonight."

As she slammed the door shut behind her, Finnick hung his head in shame. His face burned red with embarrassment and his pulse continued to beat harder. After everything, he was just so tired or being a bad guy who hurt people. Johanna was hardly the first person to stomp through his apartment, hurling words laced with anger and fury, and he couldn't help but wonder if she would be the last.

He knew he didn't want to break any more hearts. He took a moment to shake the ordeal off before taking his jacket and making his way out the door.

* * *

Once again Finnick found himself in the regular seat at the bar he liked to think was _their_ place since the first night he had laid eyes on the beautiful young man sitting in the seat opposite him. His hand twitched once again, he could tell he was growing to be more and more anxious with each passing minute of anticipation of seeing Peeta again, only now it was different.

Finnick was alarmed to find himself intimidated and nervous now that he wasn't allowed to say the things he wanted to, to touch Peeta the way he wanted to, the way he used to.

He turned in his seat when a familiar voice filled his ears. Finnick was appalled to see the large man with him. He was saying something under his breathe with a large grin on his face. Whatever it was made Peeta laugh as they closed the gap between the entrance of and the bar at the back where Finnick waited, watching in confusion.

"Finnick," Peeta greeted with a large grin on his face, "This is Cato."

The taller man extended a greeting hand with a raised eyebrow, "Nice to meet you, man."

Without thinking, Finnick rose from his seat and accepted the handshake, sure to squeeze much tighter than the offering hand. "You too."

Suddenly an awkward silence set in amongst the three men who now stood huddled together in the quiet bar. Peeta opened his mouth to speak before Cato spoke up.

"Where's the bathroom in this place?" he asked, pulling off his coat and placing it on one of the stools next to Finnick.

"At the back," Finnick said without hesitation, eying a brief moment in which he could be alone with Peeta.

Cato smiled at the small blonde man and nodded, "Be right back."

Both men waited a quick moment as they were left alone. Finnick immediately looked to Peeta for an answer, a reason to explain the man's unwanted presence. Peeta in turn looked after the man looking for the bathroom.

"Well," Finnick muttered, "This sure is a surprising turn of events."

"Sorry," sighed the younger man, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at him apologetically. "He caught me on my way out, I guess he was planning to come over tonight."

Finnick took his place at his stool as he removed the jacket and placed it on the seat to his right so he could sit next to the man he wanted to and not have his view obscured by the large man preoccupied in the bathroom.

"I know it's weird," Peeta said, taking a seat, "But he's going to be around from now on and-"

"-Did you ever consider that maybe I didn't want him around?" he interrupted with composed tone, "I'm still kind of trying to get my head around this whole thing."

Peeta nodded. He was sympathetic to the clearly masked hurt behind Finnick's eyes. It was the kind of observation only he could see. "It wasn't my intention to parade him around in front of you. I was going to cancel."

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

Peeta was still for a moment, "I really wanted to see you tonight," he replied before opening his mouth to speak on but deciding against it.

"What?" Finnick asked, observing the hesitation in the young man's expression.

"If you want to be part of my life you're going to have to accept him," Peeta sighed, his eyes darting over his shoulder to check on Cato's whereabouts.

Finnick nodded as his eyes stared into Peeta's blue ones. "I know, it's just that you could have made an excuse-"

"-An excuse?" Peeta looked at him disappointingly. "You mean lie to him?"

He could hear the accusation in the words and what they implied, he didn't care. "Would that have been so wrong? We're friends right?"

Peeta shook his head, "It's not the point. I can't start off lying to him and coming to meet you. You know as well as I do that what we're doing here isn't good."

"I don't care whether it's good or not," Finnick sighed, "As long as I know it's good for us. I don't care if it makes me a selfish asshole."

"And what about the people we hurt in the process?" Peeta asked quietly, looking over his shoulder once again.

"We're not hurting anyone." Finnick looked down at his almost empty glass before raising it and finishing the last of it's contents. "Besides, judging by his warm reception, I can only assume you left out a large chunk of our history and told him we were friends."

Looking uneasy, Peeta shifted in his chair as the unspoken truth caught up to him and the realization that the lies had already started becoming all too clear to him. A look of sadness passed over his face.

Finnick felt the familiar sting of the pain his inconsiderate words inflicted. It may have been something he had realized himself, but he wished he'd left Peeta in blissful ignorance of the knowledge that he'd already lied to Cato.

"Peeta, listen," Finnick sighed, "Our history is just that, it's history." He spoke soothingly, daring the move and placing a hand on the smaller man's back for a moment. "It doesn't matter anymore. We have a good time hanging out together, let's just leave it at that."

Peeta nodded but didn't reply. Instead he looked up and gave the older man a grateful smile, thankful for an excuse to bail him out of his guilt.

Two large hands suddenly slapped each man's back as Cato quickly returned with an upbeat energy and chipper smile in place. "So? What are we drinking?" he asked with a laugh, "First round is on me."

* * *

"You didn't drink anything tonight," Finnick remarked to Peeta as his eyes glanced in the rear view mirror, watching Cato slump over across two seats looking dangerously close to being sick as he slipped in and out of sleep. He flexed his hands tightly around the steering wheel as he stopped the car at the set of lights.

"Trying to cut back," Peeta said in a hushed tone as he too turned around to check on the large man in the back seat. "Alcohol has a tendency to fuel my bad decision making."

Finnick nodded and turned his head to look at him, clenching his jaw as he noticed how Peeta observed Cato with such care and concern. "I'm really happy to hear that, I'm really glad things are getting better for you."

Peeta turned to him and smiled a little weakly, "Me too."

It was true and he couldn't have been happier to see that Peeta had finally found a way to put the pain and hurt of the past year behind him, but Finnick couldn't allow himself to feel as happy as he wanted to. He wanted to be the reason Peeta was happy. The knowledge that the young man had finally found some peace in a man like Cato who Finnick saw as nothing more than a loud, insufferable, drunken idiot made him seethe. The entire night had been spent mainly listening to Cato's many stories and ramblings as Finnick watched Peeta's every move, observing how the smaller man clung on to every word and gesture, laughed at his jokes and supplied his own anecdotes about their history together.

Eventually the time had come when Cato inquired about their relationship, one he was made to believe was simply that of friendship. Peeta nervously looked to him with a pleading look before Finnick retold the story of how they met months earlier and how they'd remained the closest of friends, neglecting to mention the times they'd kissed, made love and hurt each other.

It didn't matter to Finnick anyway. It was obvious what kind of man Cato was with every passing minute as the night wore on and the man became more and more inebriated, finally reaching a point at which time Finnick believed if he were to speak the truth of his relationship with Peeta, it would all fall on deaf, drunken ears.

By the time midnight approached, Finnick decided to call it a night, offering to drive the two young men home in the process.

"So where am I driving you?" Finnick asked as the red light turned to green and the car continued to move. "Back to your place?"

Peeta shook his head, "No. Noah would kill me if I brought him back like this." Once again he turned in his seat to check on Cato, only this time it wasn't out of concern for his well being, it was to make sure he was asleep. After a brief hesitation, he looked to Finnick again. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but can we crash at your place?" he asked softly.

The request took him by surprise, he wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't want Cato in his home, but he didn't want him alone with Peeta either. "Yeah sure," Finnick said quietly.

* * *

I've got asprin in the bathroom. He's going to need it in the morning. Finnick crossed his arms and watched as Cato threw himself on the large couch.

Peeta laughed, "Tomorrow morning should be interesting," he said, pulling Cato's shoes off and helping the tall man out of his jacket.

"Turn off the light," Cato muttered, hiding his face in the crook of his arm to shield his eyes from the dim glare.

Both men laughed, unable to keep quiet despite the angry protests coming from the heavily inebriated man. Finnick turned off the light and chuckled at the sound of snoring coming from Cato's mouth who had clearly decided to pass out again. Unable to see in the dark, Peeta banged his shin on the edge of the coffee table, letting out a string of curses, much to the older man's amusement resulting in another round of hushed laughter as the two of them made their way to Finnick's bedroom.

Peeta sat on the edge of the bed, trying his best to suppress the knowledge that he was once again in Finnick's apartment, in his room, on his bed while his drunken lover peacefully slept in the next room, completely unaware of the past Peeta and Finnick shared.

"I can take the floor if you want," Finnick suggested, closing the door and turning the light on.

Peeta hesitated for a moment, "No, it's okay."

Finnick moved for the bed. Peeta watched the man take off his watch and set it by the lamp. Unsure of whether to look away or not, he watched the man unbutton his shirt through the corner of his eye, recognizing the same toned body and muscular arms that once wrapped around him and pulled him in tightly as they slept.

"Do you want to change clothes?" Finnick asked, eyeing him up and down, "You're not really going to sleep in those are you?"

Peeta glanced down at his apparel, already finding the task of sleeping in the uncomfortable clothing daunting. "Yeah, thanks."

As he rose off the bed and to the dresser, he caught a glimpse of Finnick dropping his pants to the ground, leaving him partially dressed in a pair of boxers. Peeta felt nervous, he could hear his breathing get heavier as he opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of grey sweats and one of the blue shirts that Finnick slept in.

He turned and saw Finnick settling into his bed. Peeta turned the light off before unbuttoning his shirt. He thought about Cato and the questions that would be asked if he were to ever find out about them. He wondered what his answer would be if he was asked if anything happened between he and Finnick the night the two of them stayed in his apartment.

The blue shirt felt supremely comfortable while the pants were slightly loose on him. Peeta couldn't tell if it was the man in the bed or the shirt, but Finnick smelt as good as he remembered. As he slipped into the bed, under the covers, he felt the warmth radiating from the body beside him in the darkness. He closed his eyes and allotted himself a single moment to pretend it was all real again, the way he used to in the past when it wasn't real. When the moment passed, he rolled onto his side with his back facing the taller shape. He sighed softly and thought about Cato.

A short lapse of silence passed through the room. Peeta closed his eyes, unable to find the sleep he wanted. His heart pounded faster in his chest by the silent breathing he heard behind him.

"You asleep?" Finnick whispered.

His instinct was to keep his eyes closed and feign sleep, but he knew the man would see right through it. "Not really," he whispered back.

The larger frame moved in closer to his still body. "Does he make you happy?"

The question startled Peeta enough to roll over, keeping to his side of the bed. "Don't do this," Peeta replied in a hushed tone.

"What?"

"You know what."

Peeta could almost hear the desperation in Finnick's voice, carefully hidden behind assertiveness. "You're not an idiot, Peeta. You can't tell me you didn't know this would happen."

Afraid of where the conversation was leading, he pulled the sheets off his body and sat up in the bed, but not before Finnick's hands found his shoulders and pulled his entire body into his own.

Peeta groaned into the kiss and found his body involuntarily bucking into Finnick's. He was beyond justifying it as a simple moment of weakness. He opened his mouth wider to let the man's tongue enter. He wanted it, quickly finding himself returning the kiss. God, how he wanted it.

Finnick broke their kiss and straddled his waist, his large hands quickly worked their way underneath the younger man's shirt. He made no attempts at hiding his heated hardness as he pressed in on his crotch with his own.

Peeta's mind raced back and forth between what to do. He knew he should stop it, that it was wrong, but the feeling of the man on top of him, his hands and his lips quickly silenced his inner protests. As their lips met again and tongues searched eager mouths, he gave himself over to the man he still desired, unable to resist his touch.

When he felt Finnick's hand drift down beneath the band of his sweat pants he gasped and tried to pull away, "We can't," he panted, backing up.

"Yes we can," whispered Finnick, removing his hand and moving in to kiss him again. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."

With more force, he continued kissing Peeta as he arched his back and his lips traveled down to his neck, sucking and kissing lightly. He felt Peeta's hands wrap around his hips, pulling him in closer. He took his own hand and began to pull down his boxers, enjoying the feel of the younger man whimpering in pleasure beneath him.

Peeta shook his head as the realization of his actions settled in, "I can't do this to him."

"Fuck him," Finnick hissed with frustration, "Is he really what you want? A drunk dickhead Neanderthal who's only purpose in life is to start fights and act like a brute?"

"Better him than an asshole who only wants to get laid," Peeta muttered in anger, "Get off me."

Finnick felt Peeta push him off his frame and quickly pulled up his boxers. He sat up in the bed, clicking on the lamp and watching the anger boil in the younger man's blue eyes.

"Peeta," he said softly, reaching his hand out to touch the man's knee, only to have it smacked away as Peeta sat up and glared at him in anger.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry," Finnick said quietly, "Come back to me, please. You can end things with him, I won't hurt you again-"

"All you ever do is hurt people, Finnick," Peeta hissed, "You don't care about who you hurt as long as you get your way. You don't care about anyone besides yourself. What's worse, when I'm around you I feel more selfish. I don't like who I am around you."

"No. You're much better with him. He took such great care of you last time didn't he?" Finnick scoffed and looked away.

Peeta was silent for a moment. It was all he could do from stopping his acid tongue from spreading more hurtful words. "I don't need anyone to take care of me anymore. He cares about me, he loves me. You only want me so he can't have me."

"That's such a load of shit, Peeta," Finnick snarled, his voice raising a little too loud for either man's liking. "God damnit, I-"

"-I can't be here," Peeta interrupted, standing and moving for the pile of clothes that lay by the dresser, completely unaware of the hardness in his pants. He rose off the bed and turned the light on, gathering his items quickly, forgetting his jacket. "I can't see you anymore."

Finnick faced the wall, bringing one of his knees up to his chin, hurt and devastated, "What do I do without you?"

Peeta shook his head, wondering if the man would look at him, "I don't care," he replied quietly before opening the door and closing it shut behind him.

He moved quickly down the hallway and to the lounge room where he flicked on the light that immediately shone too brightly and caused Cato to stir. Peeta knelt down by his side, shaking him firmly, "Get up, we're going."

"What?" Cato slurred, opening his eyes and looking baffled by his surroundings for a moment before lifting his tired head and looking at the desperation in Peeta's eyes. "What happened to your clothes?"

"Nothing," Peeta snapped in response, "Get up. We're going back to my place."

Peeta helped the man up, frustrated by the time it was taking them to make a speedy exit. As Cato pulled his shoes on Peeta heard the sound of Finnick opening his door, watching him. He turned and the two men stared each other down. Peeta broke the stare as Cato rose off the couch and the two men moved for the door.

Peeta turned once more to look at him, he couldn't believe that he was in the same situation again. Without a word he pulled the door closed behind him.


	12. Live To Regret

**Author's Note: I don't like to play favorites with my chapters, but this addition would have to be up there. It was an enormous joy to write and I can only hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It is also the ending to my second arc and the set up for the third and possibly final arc of the story. I have an ending in my sights but I don't want to announce an ending if I'm not sure it is on the immediate horizon. I may flesh out a few new ideas to make the story last longer, I may not. At this point I've got the next few chapter ideas in my head and am now working on a way to make them into a story. The problem is that I have a few endings in my mind and I'm not sure which one I'm going to go with. Things tend to be messy and complicated with my characters so I cannot guarantee a happy ending either, if you've been reading this story for a while you should know that by now lol. These two men make many poor, self destructive choices and don't really deserve a happy ending. Having said that, there _may_ be some redeeming of their actions. It really depends which idea's I choose to utilize that will determine the ending to the story which as I said, _may_ be close.**

**The good news is it doesn't end here! So please read, enjoy and review. Thanks readers!**

* * *

Finnick had spent the better part of his Sunday brooding in darkness. The sun had made little to no effort of shining in the sky that day and he couldn't help but feel it was a suitable sign to reflect the mood he was in.

He had lost Peeta in a foolish attempt to win him back. Now he was alone, exactly what he thought he wanted.

By late afternoon he'd polished off a bottle of scotch and had just begun on the bottle of vodka he kept in his freezer for such occasions. He sat in his living room in complete silence with the shades drawn, stewing over the previous nights events.

He'd barely slept that night and the day of drinking had begun to take it's toll. Finnick closed his eyes as he slumped on the couch, hoping for the strength to turn his mind off and finally rest. A knocking at his door roused him from his attempt.

He placed the cold bottle on the table and rose to his feet, prepared to slam the door shut in the face of anyone who would only serve to piss him off more than he already was.

Peeta stood at his door, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes staring at the floor.

"I just came for my jacket," Peeta mumbled, looking at him for only a second before staring back down at his shoes.

Finnick bit back the smile he could feel rising in his cheeks and opted to adopt Peeta's same cold, hard expression. "It's in the bedroom."

Peeta looked back up at him, an eyebrow cocked and his lips pressed in a tight line, causing his lips to drain color. "Do you really think I'm going to fall for that one again?"

He tried to push the angry words away. "You wanted it." By the time Finnick realized he didn't want to say it, the words slipped out and it was too late to take them back.

"Fuck you," Peeta spat in anger as he pushed his way past the taller man and stormed straight for the bedroom.

"I'm sorry-fuck!" Finnick quickly moved to grab his arm and apologize but the smaller man was too fast. He stumbled for a quick second and banged his knee on the table by the door. "Peeta!"

The younger man was too inconsolable and irate to listen to a word that the man had to say to him. As soon as he walked through the bedroom door he eyed his jacket and snatched it up in a huff before turning to the door and spotting Finnick block his exit.

"I'm sorry I said it," Finnick sighed, "What I did was wrong. It was wrong and-and fucked up and I'm sorry."

Peeta could see the true remorse in Finnick's sad face as much as he could hear the sadness in his voice. Despite his anger and hatred for the man's actions, he wasn't the only one at fault that night. "I did want it. That's why I didn't push you away," Peeta muttered, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist in the jacket. "But it doesn't change anything."

"I know," Finnick said quietly. He could hear his voice cracking as the confession passed through his lips and he knew he wasn't ready for it. He could feel the tears slowly begin to rise in his green eyes.

"We're not good people, Finnick," Peeta said solemnly, his heart aching at the truthful words. "My parents would be so ashamed of me, the things I've done. We're bad."

Finnick shook his head, "You're not a bad person. You were right. I'm bringing you down with me," he said firmly as he quickly wiped his eye. "It's not you. God, Peeta, you're…" he stopped himself, afraid that his own words would cause him to lose control of the feelings he was trying so hard to keep below the surface.

"What?" Peeta asked sullenly as his heart began to plummet. He watched the man who was so good at hiding his feelings fall apart in front of him, a rare sight.

"You're better than I am," Finnick replied, coughing nervously to hide the pain in his voice.

It was at that moment that Finnick gave up. He leaned his tall body against the door frame, allowing the younger man to walk past him. As he watched Peeta walk by and down the hall way that led to the door of his apartment he felt the release of tears bringing with them the hurt and agony that could only come from losing someone so important to him again.

"Don't be sad, Finnick," Peeta said softly. The smaller man turned around to look at him, one hand resting on the doorknob. "Trust me, it won't hurt forever."

Finnick wiped his cheek and let out a deep breath, "It hurts because I didn't realize how much I needed you. It hurts because I'm not okay with how we left things the other night."

Peeta let the door knob go and hung his head, "Given how we ended it the other night, I think it was a perfect way to leave things."

The younger man took a moment as he watched Finnick compose himself. He hated what they had become and the arduous problems they caused each other, leaving them both emotionally exhausted and devastated. He knew Finnick was no longer someone worth fighting for, they would never be happy with or without each other.

"Are you going to be okay?" Peeta asked, stepping closer and closing the gap between them.

Finnick took a deep breath as he leaned back on the wall, his head falling against the plaster with an audible thump. "Do you want me to lie to you and say I will be?"

He crossed his arms and looked at the ground again, terrified to make any eye contact. "Couldn't hurt."

"You should probably go now." Finnick straightened himself up and took a step closer to him, hoping their eyes would meet. "I really am sorry if I fucked things up for you. The last thing I want to do is make you lose something that makes you happy."

The younger man nodded, "I'm sorry for what I said to you," he sighed, his blue eyes looking up at the bronze haired man, "I was upset-"

"-You were right," Finnick interrupted as he wiped a stray tear from his eye with the back of his hand. "I am selfish. I don't care about who I hurt to get what I want. But I don't want my actions to hurt you anymore. I love you too much to see anything bad happen to you."

Without realizing it, Finnick had created a seismic shift with his words. One that left him reeling. The feelings that had been growing for so long were finally given a voice, feelings he never thought would emerge from his mouth because he didn't realize they existed.

Peeta stepped forward and ran his hand through the bronze hair, pulling Finnick's lips down to meet his own and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and he could taste his tears. There was no time to think of consequences, in that moment only one thing mattered to him. He opened his mouth against Finnick's as free hand fisted in the man's shirt, pulling him closer while he pushed his tongue into the man's warm mouth.

He felt his own tears rise to the surface. At first Peeta couldn't be sure what brought the sudden urge on. Perhaps it was guilt or pure sadness of watching Finnick cry, but after months of being saddened by what he thought was a lack of feeling, Finnick was in love with him. It was what he had wanted for so long. A single tear fell down his cheek as he continued kissing him, only this time it was different, they were in love.

Finnick pushed the small frame off his body. They were both too fragile to be doing this reckless, stupid act. "We can't go back there again. You'll end up hating me and we'll end up doing more damage."

Peeta was unsure for a second. He looked at the man carefully, considering his options and weighing the decisions in his head. He gave himself over to what he decided what his true nature, carelessness. The rest of the world didn't matter anymore. "This is tonight," he said softly.

Finnick looked at him and took a deep breath, "Forget about tomorrow," he replied in agreement.

He took the smaller man into his own body, kissing him delicately and carefully. As their bodies pressed together, Finnick knew it was perfect.

That _he _was perfect.

Peeta broke their kiss, his fisting hands pulled at Finnick's grey shirt and lifted it over his neck and arms, dropping it in a heap on the floor. As his lips traveled back, his fingertips brushed the scars along the tall ribcage, reminding him that the man he loved like no one else could have been taken away, and that the amazing moment may have never come to be.

Their kissing continued with both men blindly stumbling for the bedroom. Outside the snow fell, causing what would still be afternoon to turn into an early evening. The room was barely lit with what remained of the grey daylight and soon enough nightfall would come earlier than expected.

It wasn't like it usually was. Peeta had come to know Finnick as a very talented lover and even when it was slow, it had never felt as good as it did in that moment. Peeta knew it was the element of Finnick's love for him that made him gently undress him, his calloused fingertips brushing against his own quivering milky skin causing him to gasp when their lips parted.

Complete silence filled the room, only broken by the sounds of panting and breathing, of wet lips passing across hot skin. Finnick laid on top of the smaller man who clung to him as tightly as he could, pulling off the man's pants and around his ankles as Peeta's own hands traveled down to his waist, one hand freeing the man from his trousers, the other searching the confines of his underwear and brushing along the patch of hair and the hardened flesh inside.

The older man bit back a gasp as the expert hands released him and he was free to wriggle out of his clothes, laying on top of him completely naked as the same hand took a hold of him and lined him against his puckered entrance. Finnick felt Peeta's hardened length press against his stomach as the smaller man rolled his hips upward, trying to sink himself down onto his partner. One of Finnick's hands held him by his hip while the other curled into the blonde locks. They stared gaping at each other as he pushed his way passed the muscle and inside of him.

As Finnick pushed in he ran his hands up beneath Peeta's shirt, massaging his torso and moving down to kiss his full lips. Peeta clung to him as their kiss broke and his head fell back and hit the pillow, gasping in pleasure as Finnick pulled back and thrust into him. He let the pleasure take him over, forcing him to pull his shirt over his head and allow himself to lie naked with the man he loved, who loved him back.

Despite his best efforts to block out the unwanted thoughts and focus solely on the man filling him, Peeta's mind wandered to Cato and the knowledge he was betraying him. The thoughts were fleeting and he found himself whispering Finnick's name as the pair of lips found the shell of his ear and began whispering the things they he used to whisper himself, back when it was all make believe.

It was real now, every whispered word, only this time they were coming from Finnick's lips. Peeta felt tears rise in his eyes as Finnick told him he loved him, that he would do anything for him, would always protect him.

"I love you," Peeta whispered as a surge of butterflies fluttered through his stomach at the feel of the weight on top of him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the snow fall harder. He could feel the coldness of the room on his toes, the rest of him was warmed by the body on top of him.

He didn't let a single moment go by without appreciating it, every thought, every moment as Finnick thrust into him and groaned with each rhythmic movement. It was exactly how he imagined it, beautiful and erotic.

Finnick's movement began to speed up. Peeta looked deep into the green eyes that stared back at his. He clenched and let out a long moan as he felt the man thrust faster and faster into him. He outstretched his arms and wrapped them around the older man's neck, pulling him into his hold as he began kissing his neck while letting out long, labored moans of ecstasy as he continued to be fucked.

What was a quiet room was now filled with the sounds of their love making. Their groans became louder and Peeta could tell Finnick was close. Their lips met once more, Peeta's hands found Finnick's, silencing their cries.

As Finnick began to come inside of him, Peeta thought back to the first night he had slept in the big bed with the man wrapped around him. Once again, they were one. He knew it wasn't forever and that it never would be again, so he let Finnick collapse on top of him, holding him in place as the man softened inside of him, neither man willing to let the moment go, both knowing it could last forever.

The weight shifted on the bed as Finnick rose off the smaller man and sat by his side. After gently running his fingers up Peeta's leg until their hands met and fingers were laced together, he studied the smaller man that lied in his bed, staring back at him a little vacantly.

Raising a leg over Peeta's lap, he slowly moved his body to stand on his knees and settle on top of him. Peeta bit back a groan as he felt Finnick's body settle onto his own, using his hand to take a hold of his flesh and rest it against the man's entrance.

Finnick let out a quiet moan as he felt Peeta inch his way inside. He wrapped his arms around the strong chest and buried his face into his chest, kissing lightly as he felt himself completely sheathed inside the warm wetness.

"I love you, Peeta," Finnick said quietly before he was cut off by Peeta's hard thrust.

He leveraged himself on his knees as he rode Peeta roughly, addicted to the younger man's gasps and moans. He clenched tightly as he rode up, forcing Peeta to thrust his hips upward to meet his movements leaving both men cursing in ecstasy.

Peeta brought Finnick's head down closer to his own with his hand, using the other to grasp his hip tightly. One of Finnick's hands held the smaller shoulder as the other cupped around his cheek lightly as their lips pressed together and they resumed their kiss, breaking occasionally to breath.

Finnick felt so tight and hot around him, after a further few hard thrusts, Peeta clutched the man closer and came.

Both men fell onto the bed, legs entangled, sweating and panting heavily. Peeta stared at the beautiful man who buried his face in the mattress, the events of the night replaying in his mind. Once again, his thoughts turned to Cato and the hurt weighed heavily on his heart.

He sat up in the bed, a panicked breath escaping through his lips while his heart began beating faster. The urge to leave loomed on him. Finnick's apartment didn't feel so safe anymore.

That was until two strong arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You can regret it tomorrow," Finnick whispered before placing a kiss on Peeta's neck.

Peeta almost melted into the embrace, allowing himself to relax in his hold. He let Finnick pull him back into the bed and bury both naked bodies beneath a warm quilt. Peeta didn't keep his back turned, resting his tired head on the man's chest until sleep found them both.

* * *

When Finnick awoke it took him a few seconds to gather his bearings and realize something was wrong. The sound of footsteps and a door closing in the distance filled his ears and he immediately tore the quilt off his naked body and got out of the large bed.

Grabbing his clothes from the floor, he quickly stuffed his legs into his trousers and pulled the same grey shirt over his head. He ran down the hallway, careless of the darkness and hidden bumps along the way. He quickly slipped on a pair of shoes by the door and raced out the door, slamming it shut behind him before taking off quickly down the long flight of stairs.

By the time he reached the entry door of his apartment building his breathing was ragged and tired. He realized it had to be somewhere around midnight by the lack of noise from the street. He pulled the large door open and took off down the concrete steps. He looked down the street, spotting a blonde patch of hair draped in a coat walking through the snow.

"Peeta!" Finnick called after him.

As Peeta stopped dead in his tracks he felt a stray tear well up in his eye before falling free down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away before turning.

The ice on the footpath was treacherous. As Finnick's shoes hit the cement he slipped but quickly regained his balance as he followed, a potentially severe injury was the furthest thing from his mind.

"So you were just going to take off?!" Finnick snarled as he reached the younger man, careless of the biting cold and exposure. He stared him down furiously, his anger growing inside at the betrayal. "What about me?!"

Peeta threw his head back in frustration, "What about you?!"

The words took Finnick off guard as they registered in his head, throwing what was another accusation out of his primary chain of thought. He grasped the smaller man's arm, prepared to hold on and never let go. "No. You don't get to end things again," he said firmly, "You don't get to just walk away from me."

"Yes I do," Peeta replied, yanking his arm back. "It was a one time deal okay? You knew what this was."

"Don't make a fool out of me!" Finnick yelled, furious that Peeta would attempt to underplay the events of the night and write it off as a lustful tryst, no more than scratching an itch. "You knew I would refuse to settle for anything less than a quick fuck when you kissed me tonight!"

He shook his head in disbelief, finally seeing that if maybe he hadn't put Peeta in the same position all that time ago maybe he wouldn't be where he was at that moment. "So you're just going to go back to _him?_ You don't love him-"

"-Don't speak for me," he snapped, glaring at the accusation, hating the condescending tone he was hearing, as if Finnick knew what was best for him. "It's too easy being you! You can do whatever the hell you want without thinking about who you hurt! You did it to me and probably a whole little black book of other people who cared about you! I don't want to be like you, the more I'm around you the worse I get! You can have your pick of anyone you choose, anyone you want-"

"-I only want you!" Finnick yelled angrily, quickly grabbing a hold of Peeta's shirt, "Fuck- I love you, why the hell can't you see that! You're the only one I want. I won't settle for anything less."

"Don't say that!" he snarled, once again smacking the large hand off his body, "I want him, I want to be good to him, _not_ you… and you can't stand that."

"Bullshit! You just don't want to face a big scene! You don't want to abandon the moron who did the same to you! You don't want to be a hypocrite! But guess what? You are, and there's nothing wrong with that! He hurt you, you hurt him back!"

"Jesus," Peeta groaned, "How can you sit there and try to justify what we did? Relationships aren't about getting even, they're about loving someone no matter what." The irony of what he was preaching was not lost on him as the words came out. He knew he couldn't argue his case without sounding like nothing more than a lying cheat, a poor substitute for what a partner should be.

Finnick opened his mouth to respond but Peeta was too fast, cutting him off instantly.

"Who the fuck are you kidding anyway? How would you feel if we were together and I fucked someone else while you sat at home waiting for me?" Peeta asked with a venomous tone, hating himself more than he thought possible as the words that emerged from his mouth reached his ears, giving him time to process them. "Would it be okay if you did something to hurt me?"

Finnick frowned, his lip curling in anger. "That's how I feel every single day when you're not with me. I think about him touching you and it makes me hate him even more because I know you love me. It makes me sick to know that!"

"It doesn't matter!" Peeta yelled, his throat growing harsher, "It's not the same because I wanted you so badly and you didn't want me back! You want to know why I don't believe you?! Because you're the kind of man who tries to convince me it's okay to act the way I did because someone deserves to be hurt! Because you don't care about who you hurt to get what you want! What we did was not okay! All we ever do is hurt people!"

"You cannot stand here and say this shit to me when we got into this mess together! You wanted me and you had me. The only reason I went along with it is because I want to give you anything you want. You didn't stop to consider him until it was over because you put yourself first. You don't get to use _what we did _against me!"

Peeta was silent for a moment, collecting himself as he continued, "I know… and I will never stop hating myself for that."

Finnick went quiet as the younger man hung his head in shame before looking at him again and shrugging his shoulder, indicating there was nothing left to say, nothing left to do but apologize and try his best to make amends, salvage whatever he could from the wreckage he was about to create in what he wanted to be a happy relationship. "Why can't it be like the way you used to whisper to me?"

"I really can't see you anymore. Whatever this was is over," Peeta said quietly, "It's so over."

"No," Finnick said firmly with a shake of his head, searching his head for the right words to say, the proper case to plead, anything to make the man stay with him. "It's not over. You don't get to come to my door and kiss me and do what we did then call me the bad guy and walk away."

"Fine," he replied, turning around as he continued to walk. "I'm the bad guy."

As Peeta walked away Finnick felt his heart break for the second time that night. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The hope and expectations he'd felt hours earlier when he opened his door and was greeted by the beautiful presence of the only man he loved were now obliterated into a million pieces. This wasn't the way people in love were supposed to treat each other.

"I'm not chasing you this time," Finnick said as a few steps were placed between them. Peeta stilled once again as the words left his mouth and released into the cold night air. "I mean it, Peeta. I'm sick of playing this game, I'm sick of this stupid drama. If you go back to him I never want to see you again. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me."

His words pounded on a door in Peeta's head that he'd already closed. There were no need for threats or ultimatums, he'd made his decision. In fact he'd made a lot of decisions that night, but putting as much distance between himself and Finnick was the only right one to him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued to walk away, finding his resolve strong enough that he didn't feel the need to look back once more at the man that he'd hurt with his selfish, thoughtless actions.

The scolding words that filled his head didn't seem like enough, while they were all true and factual, nothing he could tell himself could make him feel any worse than he did at that moment. All he ever did was hurt people. He hurt Finnick by showing up at his door, by kissing him, touching him, whispering lustful thoughts into his ear only to scratch an itch and fill a hole in his heart that he was now certain was closed and buried for good - assuming he had one. He really didn't know if anyone who could act the way he did was capable of having a heart, let alone a conscious.

Worst of all was the way he hurt Cato, the man who gave him his heart and soul which he'd promptly destroyed in a matter of hours. As he continued to put more space between Finnick, who he was sure was still standing there, watching him walk away, he thought of the look Cato would have in his eyes when he admitted his wrong doings.

"_Peeta!"_

Finnick was calling his name again. Peeta ignored it as he continued to walk without any direction, just getting away from him and silencing the world around him, careless of anyone or anything but the man he hoped would still love him in the morning. He was temporarily blinded by a very bright light in those split seconds.

Suddenly a screech of tyres filled his ears. Everything went by so fast but also so slowly. It was an odd sensation, feeling his feet lift from the ground so quickly as his body jerked. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, unfortunately it wasn't until he saw a quick flash of a windscreen and the crash of glass as his body rolled until spectacularly landing face down on the hard road.

He couldn't feel a thing after that. He could taste his own blood and heard a deafening ringing in his ears.

Then everything went black.


	13. Broken

**Author's Note: I've decided to post this chapter as two separate parts. I couldn't find a good break in the current events of the story and it made the most sense to me, it is also the reason why this chapter isn't as lengthy. Also, I didn't want to breeze right through this chapter either, I feel if I uploaded the full chapter in it's entirety (the rest is currently being written) then it would feel like I was just skipping through. I really hope you enjoy this. I'm so happy to have passed the 50,000 word mark. Thanks for reading. **

* * *

Deep down Finnick knew there was no salvaging what they had for that night. The first and only night he'd held Peeta as they slept, deeply in love with him the entire time. The smaller frame wrapped around his own, his heavy head resting on his own bare chest. He wished he hadn't fallen asleep so quickly. He wished he'd taken in the moment and appreciated it more, appreciate how beautiful it all was.

But he didn't.

He didn't believe Peeta when he said it was only for one night. He thought he'd stay, that they'd wake up together in the morning and he could begin something he'd never experience before.

There was no need to make threats. They both knew that. Finnick didn't hold the cards and Peeta made the decisions now, but he made them anyway.

"I'm not chasing you this time," He said as Peeta turned his back on him. "I mean it, Peeta. I'm sick of playing this game, I'm sick of this stupid drama. If you go back to him I never want to see you again. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me."

What did he expect to happen? That after saying such a thing that the younger man would change his mind? He certainly didn't predict what would happen next. He watched him walk away through the snow, preying he would simply turn around and come back to bed.

Finnick felt like crying, but he wouldn't allow himself to. Instead his lip curled in anger as he seethed with every step the young man took. He gritted his teeth angrily and thought of everything he wanted to say to him, every horrible word, every nasty name he could think of.

That was until he caught a glimpse of the car tearing around the corner. It took him no longer than a split second to notice Peeta step foot onto the road, his head down, clearly unaware of where he was.

He felt time stop in that moment.

"Peeta!"

By the time his feet hit the pavement and he began running for the man, time had resumed and he watched in horror as Peeta looked up, squinting his eyes at the bright light that pierced them before the car struck him. The streets were so dark, the make of the car was ambiguous. Finnick continued to run as Peeta was lifted onto the car, rolling onto the windscreen, over the top and landing face first onto the road.

As he got closer and the car came to a screeching stop, Finnick's last words replayed in his own head and regret started to fill every fiber of his being as he quickly approached the young man on the road with a large patch of blood staining his blonde hair.

"Peeta!" Finnick yelled, hitting the road so quickly his knees scraped against the rough surface of concrete, likely drawing blood.

His eyes were closed. The right half of his face was scraped, bloodied and raw. Upon a quick glance, Finnick could already see the man's right leg was broken by the angle it bent.

"Peeta?" Finnick panicked, he placed two fingers on his neck and found a pulse immediately. A small flush of relief went through him before turning back to desperation. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes!"

No response.

A loud engine filled his ears, as did the sound of screeching tires. Finnick didn't bother sparing a second glance at the car that sped off, dented by a small body with a crack in the windscreen. All that mattered was Peeta's well being. He would worry about those responsible in due time.

His trembling hands moved to take Peeta's coat off. Finnick gasped as he felt the dislocated shoulder move while lifting his upper torso from the ground. He quickly, but carefully pulled the jacket off and wrapped it into a bundle, placing it underneath the man's head.

It suddenly occurred to him that they were all alone. The streets were empty. An eerie silence had found them and all Finnick could hear were the signs of his own ragged breathing. There was no one to call for help and no help was coming to find them.

He didn't have time to question his next course of action. He would have to leave Peeta alone to run back to his apartment and grab his cell phone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Peeta as he checked the man's head for further signs of injury. He found nothing more than a large gash above a big lump that had formed on the back of his head.

For a brief moment he considered picking him up. He had carried Peeta before, but not with a broken leg, dislocated shoulder and several other possible injuries that may have been waiting to be discovered. He decided it was best to leave him as still as possible.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta," Finnick said as he wrapped his arms around the man's middle and began dragging him onto the sidewalk as gently as possible, his eyes glued to the man's leg as the body dragged. "I promise I'll be back."

When his feet hit the pavement and Finnick began running, he thought about running up the four flights of stairs, running into his apartment, down the hall and to the bedroom where his phone sat connected to a charger. It would only take him a couple of minutes, but what if he missed something? A fatal injury? It was so dark and cold outside, with no light there was no way he could do a thorough enough examination with the basic medical training he'd received in the war. What if Peeta died of trauma to his head while he was upstairs finding his phone? What if his last words to him were laced with anger and death wishes?

A bloody, smeared hand print was left on the doorknob as Finnick pushed his way through the apartment door. Sure enough his phone was where he left it. He quickly bundled up the quilt on the bed with his free hand as he ran back out of the bedroom, back through his apartment and out the door. He ran back down the stairs two at a time, frantically dialing 911, desperate to have help come and save the man he loved.

The operator connected his call the second Finnick pushed past the large entry way door. He explained what happened to Peeta before giving his address as he found himself face to face with the bleeding man lying on the sidewalk.

"Please. Open your eyes," Finnick asked softly. He paused for a moment, holding his breath and ignoring the operator's questions that emitted from the phone. "Let me see your eyes." He gripped Peeta's good hand tightly in both of his own as he covered him with the blanket, "Please, please, please…"

He knelt down next to him, Peeta's hand felt cold to the touch, icy and stiff. In that moment, that cruel, horrible moment, Finnick knew Peeta would soon be dead. Even if his pulse was still beating, there would be no saving the innocent young man by the time help came.

"Don't leave me," Finnick muttered, lifting his head up and moving to Peeta's full lips, "I'm not done with you yet."

Finnick listened to the night air blow softly, terrified at the absence of loud siren's piercing the quiet night. The only person in the world that meant something to him lay unmoving on the sidewalk, his face bruised and bloody, too young to be torn away from a life he'd barely lived, a life Finnick knew he could enrich.

He recalled the day his life almost ended, the surge of fear and darkness, the feeling of terror he felt as he took what he thought was his last breath. How he wished for someone to reassure him, tell him he would be okay. Maybe it may not have been as traumatizing had someone been there to tell him those things.

"Your brother is going to be so pissed off at me," Finnick said softly as his hands secured the jacket resting beneath the injured man's head. "You'll be fine."

He heard the words come out of his mouth and cringed at how dead and lifeless they sounded. He knew he didn't believe them to be true, but he didn't have any other choice. Even if it was a lie, it was the least he could do. They both knew how to pretend.

The cold hand that lay flat in both his own began to twitch before squeezing lightly. Finnick immediately looked into the half open blue eyes noticing the left was bloodshot and bruised. "Peeta?" he asked with an instant sigh of fleeting relief. Finnick knew he had to do whatever it took to keep the man from losing consciousness again. "You have to stay awake, okay? Help is on the way, just stay awake."

Peeta looked dazed. Finnick could already tell the man could not feel the full extent of his injuries. "I got hit…" was all he could say in a mangled, broken voice.

Finnick could see the blood in his teeth as he spoke but it wasn't his immediate concern. He checked the blue eyes before holding three fingers out in front of them, terrified of a head injury. "How many fingers am I holding out?"

"Three," Peeta muttered as he twitched his arm and winced at the pain, "I guess I deserved it huh?"

The older stilled at the cold comment for a moment before his hands went down to the shorter legs that lied on the snow filled footpath, feeling around the calf and upper thigh, "Can you feel this?"

Peeta winced again, "Yes," he murmured in a pained, agonized cry. "It hurts, god damnit, Finnick…"

"I'm sorry," he replied softly, as he returned to lie on the ice cold footpath with the hurt man. He gently curved by his side and held his hand while his free arm covered his torso. "The ambulance is coming," he said as Peeta began shivering and the blood in his bruised and damaged face continued to spread. "Keep your eyes open, shouldn't be too much longer."

Peeta nodded slowly as he squeezed the warm hand. The snow had begun to fall harder and he wondered how long it would be until they were both covered in it. He admired the way snowflakes clung to Finnick's bronze hair. "I wish you knew me a year ago," he sighed quietly as he shook beneath the quilt. "Before my parents died. You would have really liked me."

Finnick felt the remainder of his tears sting his eyes, "I like you just fine now."

He shook his own head as he heard the faint sound of an ambulance siren approach in the distance. "I don't really like me."

* * *

Finnick sat in the waiting room of the intensive care unit. His green eyes darted between the large wall clock above the nurse's station and the two large white doors off to the right. The doors led to a hallway which led to room 27 where Peeta slept awaiting an MRI.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a mounted dome mirror high on the wall above him. He sat slumped in a chair, his feet bare and biting, his black sweat pants and grey shirt blotched with Peeta's dried blood. He didn't allow himself the right to feel degraded or disgusted by his appearance. It was the least important worry in the world to him at that moment.

If he were a religious man, Finnick would have preyed for Peeta to be okay, that his scans would reveal no sign of trauma or bleeding. He'd been sure to check for signs of paralysis with the small amount of medical knowledge he'd retained from his time in the service, but he wasn't a doctor. All he could do was hope. It's what Peeta had spent so much time doing for him, he at least owed the man the same consideration.

Finnick rose from the uncomfortable chair and crossed the almost empty room, filled with one or two fellow worried loved ones. He approached the large white doors that kept him isolated in the large waiting room and away from the man he was so worried. He was banished by the doctors, nurses and Noah Mellark who he had met for the first time that night.

He sternly looked through the large windows in the door, waiting, hoping for a response to the many questions he was dying to know the answers to.

The clock read 2:35am when Noah emerged from the hall, out into the open waiting room. Once again, Finnick rose from his seat to be greeted by the very unhappy expression taking a toll on the man's face. As he approached, he couldn't help but notice the striking similarities between the younger man he always found to be quite beautiful and his older brother who looked anything but in the state he was in.

"Is he okay?" Finnick asked, his voice scratchy and broken with worry. "How is he?"

Noah ran a trembling hand over the back of his own neck, completely depleted of any energy, running primarily on adrenaline. "They're running a scan on him right now. If everything is in check the doctor said he won't need surgery. I'm hoping it's just bumps, bruises and broken bones. We'll find out more when they're finished."

Picturing Peeta laying alone in a large MRI machine, scared, cold and frightened made Finnick want to cry, that was until he looked into the blue eyes of his brother. Suddenly, he didn't feel like he had the right to display such sadness in the presence of the man who had already lost his parents and almost his sibling.

"Who did this?" Noah croaked, his hands turning into fists. Whether intentional or subconsciously, Finnick didn't know.

"I don't know," Finnick muttered, holding onto the relief that Peeta was no longer in a serious condition. "They took off."

"Shit," he spat with disgust. "They left him there like a fucking dog. He's 19 for fuck sake!"

"I was there," Finnick said softly. For a moment he considered offering his arm to rest on the man's shoulder before quickly deciding not to.

He had put himself on Noah's radar. Blue eyes glared at him angrily, focusing all anger on him now. "What the hell was he even doing in the street at midnight?! How the hell were you there exactly anyway, Finnick?!"

The question was not unexpected, but it still took him off guard. "We were fighting… Peeta wasn't looking and the car just shot around the corner-"

"-You were fighting?!" Noah snapped, his voice grew slowly louder with each passing sentence. "What in the hell were you fighting about?! In must have been pretty big to land my brother in the emergency room!"

"I-" he found himself stuttering, the answers were there but almost impossible to verbalize. "It was about… us…"

Noah noticed the way the man spoke. Although the same age as himself, Finnick sounded as hurt and confused as a weak child, a boy offering a poor explanation to an angry parent. Despite his urge to unleash his frustrations on him, he knew Finnick wasn't driving the car that hurt his brother, he also knew his responsibility was to lie in Peeta's best interest. He had failed.

"I don't know what is going on between you two," he sighed, running a tired hand through his blonde hair, "I know enough about you to know he's got no control around you. You're screwing with his head-"

"-I'm not anymore," Finnick interrupted, crossing his arms across his stained shirt, "I screwed him around. I knew what he wanted and I didn't know what I did."

He hated the look Noah gave him, but noticed it softened sympathetically as he continued. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"Why?" Noah asked, removing his thick jacket and folding it across his arm. He finally noticed the blood covered shirt that clung to the man. Despite everything, the man protected Peeta when he couldn't.

Finnick eyed the entrance to the ICU again and nodded in the direction, "It's too late. He doesn't care that I love him now."

Noah handed the man his jacket. His angry expression never faltered as Finnick accepted it and put it on. "I want you to know that if Peeta wasn't here, I'd beat the living shit out of you right now."

He nodded, "Yeah, I know."

"You say you love him than you were supposed to keep him safe." He checked the clock behind them before turning his back. "I've got to get back to him. I'll keep you posted."

"I want to see him," Finnick said desperately. "Please, Noah. I need to say goodbye to him. I can't leave it the way we did."

Noah turned and nodded, "Okay. But not now."

With that final exchange, Noah left to return to his brother's side. Finnick wrapped the jacket around himself tightly, hating himself more with each passing moment.


	14. Take Care

**Author's Note: Boy! It's been a while since I've updated this story. I do apologize for being one of those asshole author's who leaves their fans hanging. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I will soon begin working on the next. I hope you check back or subscribe to the story to alert you of when the next chapter is added because I don't want to make any promises. The one promise I will make is, I _will_ finish writing this story. I promise I won't leave you guys hanging.**

**As always, read, review and most importantly enjoy. Thanks.  
**

* * *

Peeta awoke to the sound of an insistent beeping. His eyes shot open and he felt scared waking up in a brightly lit room filled with a bright fluorescent lighting that kept him from seeing much of his surroundings.

"Peeta?"

Hearing his brother's voice was an instant relief. Peeta wearily turned his head and was greeted with a half worried and weary smile from Noah.

It took him a few more shaky moments to gather his bearings and remember where he was, what put him there and question what would happen now. Outside of his room doctors and nurses were making their rounds while inside he could see he was draped in a gown and covered to his waist in a scratchy blanket. His head felt constricted, Peeta lifted his right arm up to his head before a sudden jolt of pain ran through his entire body, stemming from his shoulder.

"Fuck!" he groaned in an agonizing and weak voice as the pain began blossoming from his shoulder and through his body.

"You can't move, You've dislocated your shoulder," Noah said sternly, sitting up from his chair by Peeta's bed and carefully resting a steady hand on the throbbing injury. He resisted the urge to take a firm hold of his brother and embrace him as he watched him sweat and writhe in pain. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just got hit by a car," Peeta muttered as he started to adjust to his surroundings and feel the full extent of his injuries. His left leg ached dully and he supposed the pain killers he could feel in his system were helping him not to feel the intense pain that was probably there.

Noah stood from the chair and reached over his brother's frame for the morphine button that dispensed a small amount of the drug in an effort to stop the pain as he began noticing sweat forming on Peeta's forehead. He crossed his arms as he released the device and stood over the bed. "I'm so happy you're okay, Peeta."

He could feel his swollen jaw, his left eye refused to open as widely as his right. Even without access to his reflection, Peeta could tell his surface injuries looked bad. "Is it bad? I mean, am I going to be here for a while?"

Noah shook his head quickly, "No. I'll let the doctor talk to you, but it's mainly just your leg- it's broken, and your arm. They ran some tests, some x-ray's and nothing came up. You had a concussion and you're head got cut up pretty badly, the doctor's were concerned you may have had some head trauma, but you don't. You're just going to need a lot of rest."

Peeta sighed in relief, "Well, that's good then." He quickly noticed his brother's expression and was surprised to see that he didn't completely agree. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just that…" Noah stopped and resumed his position in the seat by the bed. "When I got that call, shit-when I heard what had happened…"

Noah's calm resolve broke down. He used a hand to shield his face as he gently started to sob. Peeta watched on in despair as he realized it wasn't only the physical injuries that had affected them both.

"I'm okay," Peeta said quietly, wanting so badly to reach for his brother's hand and reassure him, tempted to suffer through the pain for the sake of calming his most terrifying fears. He wondered if words would be enough. "I'm so sorry to have made you think that, Noah."

Noah wiped away his tears and moved forward, upset to see such sadness in the foggy blue eyes that had began to fill with tears. "I don't want to lose you too, okay? You're the only family I have left," he said softly, taking his brother's hand into his own.

Peeta nodded and smiled before a thought occurred to him. "Who did this?"

"We don't know," he replied bitterly, releasing his brother's hand and sighing, "Finnick said they drove off right after."

"You talked to Finnick?" Peeta asked as he felt the wave of pain killers gently ease their way through his body, doing little to keep the pain in his heart at bay.

Noah shrugged, "Everything that happened tonight."

"I didn't mean to," he sighed, "I mean, I wasn't planning it-"

"-What are you talking about?" The older man asked, confused as he put together the pieces of his brother's words.

Peeta was quiet. The sound of his heart monitor filled the room once again as silence fell and his guilty silence said more than words could.

"You slept together, didn't you?" Noah asked with disappointment in his voice.

His eyes remained downward, afraid to make eye contact and see his brother's judgemental expression, "All I ever wanted was him to tell me he loved me," Peeta sighed, "I would lose so much time thinking about him, about us. I didn't think he was capable of it."

"And now that he is?" Noah asked with slight apprehension in his voice.

"I don't know," Peeta confessed in a choked voice, "Do you hate him?'

Noah shook his head, "He protected you, he looked after you when you needed it… but he hurt you too."

Peeta nodded solemnly, "Where's Cato?" he asked as his guilt began catching up with him and the knowledge that his thoughts hadn't returned to Cato weighed heavily on his heart.

"I haven't called him yet," the older man sighed, tired and exhausted, "Do you want me to right now?"

"Yeah," he replied feeling a wave of regret pass over him. "Can you come right back though?" The thought of laying alone in a hospital bed was far too unsettling.

Noah smiled warmly before reaching his arm out and gently wrapping it around his younger brothers neck as best he could without causing pain. "Don't ever scare me like that again, okay?"

Peeta nodded again, smiling softly for good measure.

* * *

Peeta was surprised to find a half smile appearing on his face as Finnick entered the room. He wasn't sure which one of them was in worse shape, himself or the man who gingerly entered the room, still shaken with tired lines appearing heavily beneath his eyes. Blue eyes immediately spotted what was surely stains of his own blood in droplets and smears along Finnick's grey shirt. He noticed the way the taller man closed what appeared to be his brother's jacket as their eyes met. From that moment on, he wasn't sure what to say. When that realization came to mind the smile quickly vanished from his face.

Finnick approached slowly, his green eyes as concerned as ever as they scanned the small, frail frame that lied broken and bruised in the hospital bed. He wanted more than anything to do something that would make it all better again, knowing there was nothing. Peeta's broken bones were symbolic of everything they had and lost.

"I'm so happy you're okay," Finnick said softly as he resisted the urge to touch him.

Peeta sighed, "I'm happy you were there… The doctor's told me if you weren't it could have been a lot worse."

Finnick remained tight lipped as his mounting guilt boiled to the surface, "I don't think there's any other way we could do more to screw this up," he sighed, "Our presence in each other's lives is nothing but destructive."

"I know," he said in agreement, surprised but not shocked that his accident hadn't changed where they stood. "So what happens now?"

He slowly walked over to the side of the bed, his sad green eyes staring down into the beautiful blue ones that gazed at him with the same wondrous looked only reserved for him, a look that would one day be cast upon another man. As he crossed the room, Peeta noticed there was nothing hesitant about the way he walked, his demeanour seemed more controlled as if Finnick knew exactly what he was doing. Peeta's lips formed a sad smile. Whatever residual sadness he had left filled his heart as the man's fingertips gently stroked along his cheek lovingly, full of care before his hand warmly caressed his bruised jaw ever so softly.

"Take care of yourself, Peeta," Finnick mumbled as a half smile graced his lips. He could feel the way the younger man pressed his cheek into the warm touch of his hand. He knew the simplest, caring touch proved to be most intimate for the young man he'd had the pleasure of falling in love with.

Blue eyes closed as Finnick's lips grazed against his own. What was meant to be nothing more than a chaste kiss quickly turned into something more as he felt Peeta part his lips ever so slightly, allowing his bottom lip to rest between both of Finnick's. He let out a deep sigh as their lips parted and Finnick rose over him once again.

"You can't stay a little longer?" Peeta asked, resisting the urge to let out a deep yawn and suppress the urge to sleep that had found him once again.

Finnick shook his head slowly, "I think it's best I take off now." He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, an involuntary reaction that came with his hesitance to leave the room and the man that occupied it. He wanted to make a promise that he would call, check in, inquire about his well being, but he couldn't. They both knew such a promise would be futile. Finnick would never keep it, and if he did, Peeta would not answer.

Finnick found himself surprised at the lack of emotion he was feeling. He wasn't devastated, not even upset. At this stage it felt like lingering around for even longer than he had be would be simply delaying the inevitable. Although he wanted nothing more than to sit by the young man's side, take his hand into his own and tell him all the things he'd held in for so long, there really was no longer a point to it.

For that moment he was okay with it. As he studied the wounded face of the man he loved, he knew that in a short while depression, anger and crippling emotion would come and find him like they had done so many times in the past. He would deal with those emotions in due time. He knew he'd always have the memories of what they had, all the while knowing they would never be enough.

"I'm sorry for what I said," Finnick said quietly, his voice laced with remorse as his hands stuffed into his pockets. "I need you to know that. I take it all back."

He felt a surge of worry jolt his system, enough to make his fingers twitch. "When you said you loved me?"

"No," he replied reassuringly as his hand travelled from his pocket up to Peeta's hair, gently brushing the blonde locks with his fingers as his other hand rested on the side of the bed. "All those horrible things I said to you before. I will never regret telling you how I feel. I'm just sorry I didn't get my timing right."

Peeta smiled, his half lidded blue eyes felt heavy while the pain in his shoulder subsided with what felt like Finnick's soft touch. He knew he would dearly miss that feeling. "So am I."

Finnick nodded with a sigh, "Get some sleep."

"Okay," he replied softly. Feeling his eyes closed felt terrific, he could feel himself falling asleep almost instantly.

The older man pulled his hand back to himself where it resumed it's place in his pocket. He took a moment to watch the young man sleep, envying his temporary peace, blissfully unaware of the pain they would both soon have to endure. He considered stealing himself one last kiss, but thought better of it. When Peeta would wake another man would be taking care of him, protecting his heart, keeping him safe. It seemed that Finnick had failed at that job on every level.

He didn't spare any more glances, instead he simply put his head down and turned for the door only to find it opening itself as he rested his hand on the knob to pull it open.

With a look of concern in his eyes, Cato entered the small hospital room, his eyes locked onto Finnick's for a split second before pushing past the man and heading straight for Peeta's bed.

"Is he asleep?" Cato asked quietly as he stood over the small frame in the bed, his hand gently inspecting the bandaged back of the blonde man's head.

"Y-Yeah," Finnick stuttered, feeling his anger rise at the immediate presence of the man he wished would have stayed lost. "Did Noah fill you in?"

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes never leaving Peeta's closed ones. "The cops are talking to Noah now."

His last sentence took Finnick off guard. Confused, he let his hand drop from the door handle and took a step closer to the taller man. "Did Noah ask for me?"

Cato turned and looked at the confused dark haired man, his eyebrows furrowed, wearing a similar look of confusion as the one he was looking into. "No. Why would he have?"

Finnick gaped for a moment, realizing that apparently Noah hadn't quite filled him in on the entire night's events. Such thoughts were secondary to him though, his main priority was speaking to the police and providing as much detail as he could to help punish those responsible. He turned and moved for the door.

"Whose blood is that?" Cato's steady but slightly angered voice asked, "One your shirt?"

He blew off the question as he pulled the door open and roughly closed it behind him. As he put more distance between himself and the two men in the room, he could feel his anger begin to wane for the moment.


	15. We Could Try And Be Honest

**Author's Note: This was probably one of my favourite chapter to write. While I love every chapter I've written so far (some more than others - I mean, not everything is a gem) I felt like after an almost 2 month absence between chapters 13 and 14, I was starting to get my groove back. I also really like where this next arc is going and have a plan in mind (not in writing - yet…) of how I'm going to not only wrap this arc up, but continue on with a fourth and final story arc before I finish this story. So welcome to the third act! I really want to keep writing this note because I have so much to say about this story, but I bet by now you're already rolling your eyes at this author's over zealous ramblings and/or are just quickly skimming this and waiting to get on with it (or just ignoring the author's note in which case I don't blame you.) **

**I'll let you get on with it, I just wanted to quickly say again how much I love your reviews. I love checking to see if anyone has decided to express their love for this story and I have to say nothing makes me feel more flattered then reading them. I appreciate every single review and I love them too. But please, if you're unsatisfied with a chapter or would like to express an opinion about the direction of the story or a character's choice, wether it is critical or positive I will read it and I will consider it. Please feel free to tell me what you think about the chapter itself because I'm telling you now, nothing will make me stop writing this story or give me greater satisfaction.**

**Anyway! Enough about me! Get reading already!**

* * *

Peeta felt like submerging himself in the hot water. Through half-lidded eyes he watched as the steam rose from the water and filled the bathroom. It took a lot of effort to keep his now casted leg from entering the hot water he was surrounded by. His painkillers had finally begun to kick in and at that moment he had never felt more relaxed and pain free.

Using his free hand he carefully and gently scooped a palm of hot water in his hand and slowly splashed his shoulders with it, vigilant not to move his left arm which had been temporarily removed from it's sling.

"Careful," Noah cautioned, observing the still healing elbow move a fraction of an inch.

Peeta wiped a wet hand across his face. "I miss when the nurse would give me a sponge bath."

Noah shot him an annoyed smirk, "I'm not exactly enjoying this either," he sighed, moving behind brother and slowly tilting his back. "You haven't been cleaned in four days. You stink."

"I happen to have a very good excuse," Peeta replied with a wide grin. "If it weren't for this fucking cast…"

Upon his arrival home four days earlier, Peeta had been forced to rely on his older brother for everything. In some ways he expected to be looked after in that sense, after all he'd been through it seemed only expected that Noah would look after him, it didn't make him feel like any less of a burden. After all the unnecessary worry and grief he had put the older man through in the past, any act of generosity felt undeserved.

The older brother handed the wash cloth to the younger man as he slowly and carefully raised the broken arm enough to wash without causing pain. "Shouldn't your boyfriend be here doing this?"

Peeta looked at him questioningly, "You're calling Cato my boyfriend?"

"Well, yeah," Noah shrugged in a matter-of-factly way, "What the hell else would I call him?"

"I'm just surprised to hear you talk about him." Peeta smirked, almost blushing, "Does this mean you're still angry at him?"

Noah paused before opening his mouth to answer, crafting his words carefully before he blurted them out, "I'm angry at him for all the shit you two put me through."

"But you're not angry at me?" he replied questioningly.

The older man rolled his eyes as he gently pushed the smaller man's back down to rest on the wall of the bathtub. "You're my brother. I can't stay mad at you."

His words stilled Peeta for a moment who let himself sink down to his shoulders in the steaming hot water, tempted to let himself fall underneath and never resurface. "What about the other thing?" Peeta asked, "Are you mad at me for that?"

Noah shook his head as he stood up and leaned against the sink, he crossed his arms and sighed heavily. "I can't exactly be holding grudges against you in your state," he mumbled with an impassive look on his face that began to resemble disappointment with each passing second. "But I didn't ever expect you to do something like that."

Flashbacks of his night with Finnick began flashing through Peeta's memory. Finnick's hands all over him, the snow, the smell of the man, the feel of his touch, the memory of his kiss, the taste of his lips…

He hung his head, diverting his gaze anywhere else but the striking blue eyes that looked in the direction of his own. They hadn't spoken about the subject since that first night in the hospital. "It wasn't like that," he said quietly, "I mean, it's not what you think. It wasn't-"

"-You don't have to," Noah interrupted with a raise of his hand, "I get it."

Peeta was quiet for a moment as he observed the way his most trusted of confidant's looked anywhere but at him. "Do you? Then why are you silently judging me?"

The bathroom became tense with silence for a few passing moments that felt like a lifetime between the two brothers. One upset that his own actions weren't being justified from the older of the two who wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he didn't do anything wrong.

Noah looked at him plainly, "Peeta, what do you want me to say?" he asked, his tone tired and tested, "I'm not going to stand here and tell you that what you did was right just because you're in love with him-"

"-I'm not asking you to," Peeta rebuffed, "I know it was wrong, selfish too, but after all we went through, Finnick felt the way I wanted him to for so long that-"

"-It doesn't make it okay," he added, "Why did you initiate it if you didn't want to be with him? What did it even accomplish besides landing you in the hospital?"

He was right, and even though Peeta didn't want to admit it he simply looked at his brother and shook his head. "I don't know… Nothing I guess…"

Noah kneeled down beside the bathtub and placed a forgiving hand on his brothers shoulder, "Doing a bad thing doesn't make you a bad person, but now you have to do the right thing."

"I can't tell him," Peeta gasped, visibly startled and almost dropping his heavy casted leg into the water. "He doesn't need to know, it will only hurt him. Besides, when he gets angry I don't know how he'll react. What if he takes off again?"

Noah shook his head, "Do you really want to keep this to yourself?"

Peeta attempted a smile but couldn't muster the strength to find anything remotely good about his situation. "He's been good to me every day since he came back. We'll be good again."

With his mind made up, Peeta carefully slumped back in the tub with his mind weighing heavily on his decision.

* * *

"Nice," Cato said with a smirk, rattling one of the prescription pain killer bottles that sat by Peeta's bed, "So there _are_ perks to being run over."

Peeta chuckled as he lay in his bed, his arm now safely secured in it's sling and his leg propped up in front of him. His blonde hair still a little damp sat combed and flat on his head, he could smell the soap on his skin. "Yep, that's why I did it."

The taller man took a seat on the bed, leaning in and gently kissing his soft, warm lips. "At least now you're on the mend," he said softly into his lips, smiling brightly, "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Peeta smiled back all the while hating himself for his memory tracing back to the months of abandonment. The question as to what Cato would have done without him had already been answered, the problem was that Peeta's immediate reaction was to still harbor resentment toward the man for the actions he was trying so desperately to atone for, especially given his own illicit behavior a week earlier. He hated himself not only for his own betrayal, but that he still hadn't forgiven Cato's.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Peeta said with a smirk, "Turns out I can take a lot."

Cato nodded as his hand rested softly on Peeta's thigh, rubbing slowly, "Yes you can. But I don't want you're pain tolerance to be tested anymore."

Peeta looked at him puzzled, "What do you mean?" he asked, moving his good hand to rest atop Cato's.

"You've been through so much in the last year," he said as he gently entwined his finger's with Peeta's, "Your parents, all the dumb shit we did, me taking off, and now this. I'm just so fucking sick of watching you get hurt. It's too much."

Peeta felt his throat tighten at the kind words. He himself didn't know what he would do if Cato said or did one more nice thing. The guilt was palpable, intense to the degree that Peeta could literally feel it boiling to the surface.

The man looked at him with such care and love. He could feel the way Cato's hand had begun rubbing the inside of his thigh, his knuckles brushing against his groin. His words made Peeta's heart beat faster while his touch made him feel passionate and erotic, arousing the same sort of sexual desire he had thought he'd reserved for Finnick. The guilt started all over again, like a cycle of emotions. Guilt, followed by something close to love, but not exactly love itself, which led to desire and all the way back to guilt again.

Cato kissed him, only this time it was deeper. His tongue pushed past Peeta's lips gracefully, his bit down on the quivering lip ever so gently, not enough to be painful, but hard enough to evoke sensation.

"God Peeta," he mumbled, breaking their kiss and staring deep into the beautiful blue eyes. His hand moved for his shirt, squeezing tightly, "I need you so much."

Peeta smiled fervidly and pushed away the guilt, letting Finnick's hand travel beneath his shirt and gently caress his milky soft skin with his fingertips.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Cato asked with genuine concern in his voice, his other hand brushing along the bulky cast while his eyes glared at the broken arm.

Peeta hesitated. He could feel how desperately hard he was, straining to be touched, wanting so badly to be intimate after a week in hospital. The second his thoughts turned to sex, he heard Finnick's gasps and moans in his ear and his throat tightened once again.

"Sorry," Peeta mumbled as they released their grips on each other, "It's just with my arm and leg-"

"-It's okay," Cato assured with a smile, hiding his well masked disappointment and instead lying down next to Peeta. "I can settle for just being here with you."

Peeta smiled and took a hold of the man's shoulder with his good arm, pulling him closer to lay on his chest. He let out a tired yawn as Cato's head rested on him, stroking his fingers through the blonde locks gently.

"Can I ask you a question?" Cato asked quietly, his mind still preoccupied with questions that were still awaiting their own answers.

"What is it?" Peeta replied, burying his face in Cato's thick head of hair and inhaling gently.

The tall man rose from his position, sitting on the edge of the bed with both of his hands in his lap, "We haven't really spoken about your accident, I mean the last thing I wanted to do was force you to talk about while you were still in hospital."

"What do you want to know?" he asked as he began to feel his painkillers take effect and slowly make him drowsy, tempted to close his eyes and let himself be whisked away into sleep.

Cato turned his head to look at him, "Why didn't you tell me Finnick was with you?"

The question immediately pulled Peeta from his half sleep state. His half lidded eyes shot open and he slowly sat up, perhaps a little too fast given the strain he felt in his shoulder. He knew he would have to try his best not to sound guilty. "Did Noah say something to you?" he asked carefully, afraid of what the man knew.

"No," he replied, his brow furrowing in confusion, "He was in your room when I came to see you. I didn't think anything of it until I saw your blood all over his shirt."

He studied Peeta's expressions and body language very carefully, curious of what the man was hiding, if he was hiding anything at all. It was true, he hadn't given the older man's presence any real thought, he'd just assumed that Peeta was spending time with a friend when he was involved in his accident. Given the man's trepidation, a much sinister thought began weaving it's way in his mind.

"Am I missing something, Peeta?" He asked the question in more of an accusatory tone than he had meant to, but with every passing second of silence his blood began to boil. "Answer my question."

"Cato," Peeta sighed apologetically, "I fucked it all up…"

He gave up, unable to keep the secret, unsure if he would have been able to stand by his vow never to reveal the truth, in a way it already felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, his heart broke at the same time.

Peeta could already feel his tears rise to the surface. "I'm so sorry, I didn't plan it-"

"-What?" Cato asked, his tone already increasingly harsh, "What the hell did you do?"

He couldn't find the words to explain his actions. For the second time that night he didn't have a way to verbalize in words how it felt to commit a crime as bad as he had. Noah was right, there was no explaining himself out of it, there was no justification, he'd done a horrible thing.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he stared up at the taller man he could see was growing more and more anxious and angry the longer he dwelled in silence and vagueness. "Finnick and I were together when you were away… I never told you that before."

Cato stood to his feet, recounting the one night the three of them had spent an evening together while he was blissfully unaware of the history the two of them shared. "What did you do?"

Peeta stared at him, his deep blue eyes quivering with tears. "What do you want me to say?" he asked in a pleading voice.

"I want to hear you say it," he said before exhaling deeply through his nose. "Tell me what the hell you did!"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and thought about how much it would hurt if Cato left him again, how empty and alone he would feel all over again. "We slept together… only once…"

"What?!" Cato yelled, resisting the urge to punch a hole in the wall or cause some sort of damage in an effort to temporarily rid himself of the incredible betrayal and hurt that was taking over his every thought and feeling. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The dim room suddenly filled with light as the door opened and Noah stood in the frame, instantly noticing the tears in his brothers eyes and the body language of the man who stood over him, filled with anger.

"What's going on in here?" Noah asked sternly, already completely aware of the answer. He and Peeta shared a look for a brief moment before he decided he wasn't going to leave the two men alone.

"Nothing!" Cato grumbled, refusing to look at Peeta as he turned for the door, almost pushing past Noah on his way out.

Peeta felt his mouth dropping open but no words emerged. He didn't want to call after him or stop him. Both men watched as Cato walked down the hallway and turned for the stairs.

* * *

Finnick purged the remains of his dinner into the toilet bowl with a loud groan. He spluttered as he felt the bile release from his throat. His nose stuffed and his head spinning he fell back onto the cold tiled floor and hoped someone would put him out of his misery. As the dripping of a faucet filled his ears and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow, he longed for Peeta before once again reminding himself that it wouldn't be like the last time, he had to move on.

In a show of long forgotten strength and sheer force of will, Finnick surprised himself by not drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle or calling up an old friend and scoring some cocaine. No, his illness had been brought on not by destroying his body in an attempt to subdue the heart ache he'd been stuck with for the past week, but with a flu that had developed slowly due to the cold weather and constant snowfall.

As he remained lying on his back in the cold bathroom, Finnick scolded himself for allowing himself pity. He wasn't the one injured with a broken arm and leg, covered from head to toe with bruises and scrapes like Peeta was.

It had killed him not being able to check in and inquire about his condition. That was until Noah had began sending him updates. Text messages that informed him that Peeta required a last minute surgery to repair his torn shoulder and that the surgery had been successful, the young man was recuperating well. Of course the subtext of the texts always remained the same, cleverly inserted in a polite way was a line that would read _"He's doing okay, no need to worry." _The message was clear, he was not to worry, which he interpreted as a request - by Noah or on Peeta's behalf, he didn't know, to no longer concern himself with the man. He was being taken care of.

There was no need. Finnick knew he would no longer allow his presence to hurt Peeta any more. He could only hope the young man was safe and warm in his home, sipping on eggnog and enjoying gingerbread biscuits made with his own hands. He knew how special Christmas was to Peeta, with it being less that a week away, Finnick could only wish that the man would have a joyous one, surrounded by the people that cared about him.

Of course he knew his own Christmas holiday would be nothing even remotely similar to the one he wished on Peeta. There would be no tree in his apartment, no wreath on his door, no Christmas cards or celebration of any kind to be had.

Finnick quickly shook off the sadness as his mind returned to his current situation. He could feel himself burning up and was too afraid to be far away from a receptacle lest he feel the need to be sick again.

Suddenly, a banging at his door filled his ears, a horrible sound he was all too familiar with. There had been too many unwanted late night visitor's and it rarely led to anything good. There was nothing that made him feel more like an asshole than someone showing up at his door late at night to call him one.

"I've got to find a place with a doorman," he muttered to himself as he somehow found the courage to peel himself off the bathroom floor and take a few wobbly steps to the door.

He knew in the back of his head that someday this day would come. He pulled the door open to reveal Cato standing tall and furious. They both knew what this was about, which was why Finnick simply stood there and allowed the tall man a free shot to the jaw.

It was hard enough to make Finnick stumble back. The taste of blood instantly filled his mouth. His head spun faster than before. In only a second he managed to straighten himself out, despite the terrible fever and the intense pain in his face. He watched as Cato stepped closer, cocking his head and making another fist. He allowed the man one free shot because frankly, he admittedly had it coming, but that was all the slack he was willing to cut.

"He told me everything," Cato grunted as he charged forth and raised his fist to Finnick again. "You're so fucking dead."

Finnick ducked as Cato's fist came colliding with his face. As the taller man stumbled forth Finnick, quick as a cat wrapped his arm around the man's neck, squeezing tightly and crushing the man's wind pipe. It took him a second or two to regain his composure as he continued to squeeze in a head lock, the logical part of his brain just trying to hold him in place to avoid being hit any more while his scorned heart forced him to squeeze tighter. When the man let out a choked gasp loosened his hold without letting him go.

"Stop," he snarled as Cato's strong hands flew up to his face, a fist colliding with this side of his head, he jerked the man onto the ground, suspended over him with one leg at each side of his body, "Are you going to calm down?"

He held the man for a few moments longer until Cato stopped resisting. Breathing sharply he let the man go and watched as he slumped onto the floor, gasping for breath for a few seconds before quickly standing up straight and collecting himself.

"What did Peeta tell you?" Finnick asked between ragged breaths, already knowing the answer but wanting it confirmed all the same.

Cato cocked his head quickly with an audible cracking of his neck, "Everything," he breathed, "You dated, you slept together last week before his accident."

Finnick nodded, quickly wiping away the drops of blood that had begun to fall from his nose with the back of his hand, "It wasn't my intention to hurt anybody, and for that I'm sorry-"

"-Fuck you!" Cato snarled, his fists already clenching again, a vein in his brow pulsing from the blood that rushed to his head, "He's mine! He was always mine! Don't apologize to me and pretend you give a shit!"

"I don't!" Finnick yelled loudly, "Believe me, I don't give a shit about you. Only him. I would do anything for him."

"Yeah?" he added with a sarcastic chuckle, taking a step closer, "Then why do I have him? Why isn't he here with you? Why would he rather end up in a hospital bed than yours?"

It sickened Finnick the way Cato spoke of him like a possession, especially because if he was, he certainly didn't belong to Finnick anymore. He curled his lip in fury, "He doesn't even love you," he said venomously with all the hatred he could muster. "That's why he kissed me, gave himself to me, told me he loved me."

Suddenly Finnick realized it wasn't all about Peeta. It was in the sense that he was the root of the conflict and confrontation. He was the source of Finnick's hatred for Cato, but now his words weren't for Peeta's benefit, they were for his own anger. Now he was using Peeta's love for him against someone who wanted it back so badly.

"I love him back," Finnick admitted wiping the anger from his face, "I don't regret what happened, and no matter what he tells you, he doesn't either."

"Bullshit!" Cato snapped, "He might not love me anymore, but he sure as hell doesn't want anything to do with you anymore either."

Finnick shook his head, "If he really forgave both of us for the many ways we fucked with him, there's only one man he'd want to be with… and it's not you."

Cato's eyes immediately searched for an item he could use as a weapon. They landed on a large ceramic vase on the end table next to the couch. Without warning, he hurled the item at Finnick, narrowly missing him before it crashed into the wall, breaking into hundreds of tiny pieces. He charged at the older man, grabbing him by the chest and hurling him onto the floor. As he raised another fist to strike his face, one of Finnick's found his own and struck hard.

Finnick rolled out from beneath the man's weight as Cato felt the full extent of the blow to his face. He furiously took Cato by the shoulders and stood him up before throwing another punch, feeling the deliriously euphoric satisfaction of his fist colliding hard with the man's flesh.

The moment was only fleeting however as Cato quickly gained the upper hand, taking advantage of his taller stature and relishing the feeling of giving back as good as he got. He struck Finnick twice in the face, first in the chest, sending the man back before charging forth once more and delivering a blow so intense it sent the man to the ground.

As Cato stepped forward, Finnick harshly swung his leg into the man's ankles, causing him to trip down onto the floor into the pieces of broken vase that were littered all over the floor. Cato gasped as he looked up to see one large piece had pierced his right hand, already drawing blood.

Finnick quickly used the moment to straddle the man's frame, pinning him down with his weight, he delivered blow after blow to Cato's face, first striking him in the jaw, then the nose once more.

Cato jerked the man off of him, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt and throwing him so hard off his body that the older man hit the wooden coffee table, breaking off two of the legs.

His face already swollen and bloody, he staggered as he rose and stood over the man bleeding on the floor. Before his anger could wane, he raised his foot and swiftly brought his heel down onto the man's stomach causing a pained grunt to emit from his mouth. He ferociously kicked him in the ribs, hoping to have caused some real damage.

He looked around the room. A broken coffee table, pieces of the vase scattered everywhere and finally at his feet, drops of his own blood landing with an audible sound.

"If I ever see you again… I'll fucking kill you," he warned in a quiet angry voice.

He turned and made his way over to the door, kicking one of the coffee table legs out of his path and listening to the crunch of the vase beneath his shoes as he walked over it. He turned the doorknob, leaving a smear of his own blood on it before pulling it open and slamming it behind him.

Finnick grabbed his side, immediately checking for signs of any damage. He could definitely feel at least two cracked ribs.

"_Peeta…"_ he whispered quietly as he closed his eyes and wished for the man he loved to walk through the door and tell him it would all be okay.

* * *

Peeta awoke the next morning, immediately turning his neck, frowning that Cato wasn't in his bed. He sat up carefully and was surprised to see him sitting at the desk, his back turned to the bed.

"Please don't take off again," Peeta begged quietly. "I wish you could know how truly sorry I am…"

Peeta looked at him with a confused look on his face. The look turned from confused to worried as the man turned in the chair and stood up, his face covered with bruises more intense and fresh than Peeta's own.

A cut on his left eyebrow, his nose swollen and red with dried blood in the nostrils. His lower lip was also fat and bruised and his hand was bandaged.

"Wh-What the hell happened?" Peeta gasped, quickly swinging his casted leg off the bed and rising to stand on it without thinking. The pain quickly blossomed in the knee and he fell back onto the bed. Ignoring it, he looked up at Cato with concern and fear in his blue eyes.

"I got pretty fucked up last night," Cato said gruffly, as if it wasn't a big deal. "Got my ass handed to me by a couple of dickheads who I took my anger out on."

Confusion, anger and overall frustration at the curtness of the explanation made Peeta baffled. "Did you hurt anyone?" he gasped, incredulous.

"No." The man sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

Peeta remembered the root of the events that led to his current situation, briefly forgetting as he observed the wounds scattered all over his lover. He nodded slowly, staring at the empty dark eyes that refused to look back at him.

"I forgive you," Cato muttered, his fat lip curled in anger.

"I'm sorry," Peeta whispered, offering his hand to rest over Cato's before having it yanked away.

"-Don't," Cato hissed, looking at him for a brief moment before turning away again. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Peeta nodded, feeling the tears sting again but forcing them down, "Okay," he replied as they sat next to each other in silence.


	16. Nightmares

_**Author's Note: Not bad huh? Two chapters in one week? It's my way to make up for lost time and the unfortunate hiatus I took from updating this story. Though not the lengthiest chapter, it does move my story forward without rushing. I felt like making it longer but it the end it seemed like doing so was just procrastinating and filling the story with irreverent filler (like this A/N) and after I had finished I decided to omit at least 1000 words. I also felt like it was important to explore the original story I had set up for Finnick but never fully explored in the early chapters of this story. I think it works nicely, I hope you think so too. **_

_**Well, I'm off to start writing the next chapter now. Enjoy!  
**_

* * *

He couldn't escape the hot air he was engulfed by. It surrounded and consumed him and Finnick didn't think he could experience a more unpleasant situation. His uniform was only exacerbating the heat and he felt at least a little better only wearing a light layer or protective equipment. He kept his chapped lips closed and resisted the urge to moisten his lips with his tongue. Doing so would only make them crack more, and opening his mouth was always uncomfortable as doing so would surely lead to a mouthful of sand.

There were times he felt homesick, not that he had much of a home in America or family for that matter, but running drills in a desert in Afghanistan during an oppressive heat wave could only make one miss a life they were accustomed to.

He appreciated beautiful things, and to Finnick, the Afghani deserts were certainly marvelous to his own eyes. As he continued to perspire among his fellow troops, the knowledge of where he was and what he was doing was not lost on him. He reminded himself to stop and take in every single moment, this is what he wanted to be doing, where he wanted to be, what he wanted to fight for and above all, what he believed in. He reminded himself he was part of something bigger, more than sweat and scolding heat and tiring training, even if he was only sectioned in the middle of the desert.

For a moment, Finnick smiled to himself. That was when the shouting started.

Learning something in theory, even practicing simulations was one thing, the reality was so much different. In a few seconds that lasted longer than he could comprehend he watched as two men went down before his eyes. As the bullets left their bodies, so did a red spray of blood that stained the once golden sand. Gunfire and shouting filled his ears. He was terrified.

It was always a hypothetical until now, he thought as he spun around. As he turned in his place, he watched as two holes went directly through a large man's chest. Finnick recalled the one and only brief exchange they shared in a chopper two days earlier. They were all so new to this that they hadn't even been out there long enough to learn all their fellow soldiers names. There would be a time in the future he would learn the man's name, but in that moment all Finnick could do was question his own morality as he watched the man's clothes quickly dampen with dark red blood and die in front of him with his own big eyes still open, fixed on him. He would never forget the way the man's eyes looked at him but weren't seeing him.

By the time he raised his gun he felt the bullets pierce him. Then he was down along with at least four other men. The sand felt extremely hot, definitely hotter than it looked. It was a nice and very brief distraction from the knowledge that he was lying in a pool of his own blood.

"_Sink or swim," _he thought in his head as he blindly reached around, hoping to crawl out of the backpack that still strapped to his back, but the second he reached his arm any further than his head, or even tried to roll on his back, the blinding pain would come. He hoped that his very light movement would at the very least signal his fellow troops to help him.

The need to stop the bleeding was suddenly surpassed by another need. He realized he couldn't breathe properly. No doubt his lungs were filling with blood. He knew he'd soon be dead. What a terrible feeling that was, he thought before deciding to just close his eyes and finally sink.

As Finnick Odair took his last breath, he asked himself if it was still worth it? He died before he had a chance to answer the question.

He woke up with a jolt, almost thrashing as his eyes shot open and the sound of gunfire continued to fill his ears, even if it was only a dream, a memory, all in his head. As Finnick gathered his bearings, he slowly wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his trembling palm as he waited for the loud ringing in his ears to subside.

Even though they had never really stopped, they were starting again. There was only one thing worse than dying, having to relive it. It was nights like that Finnick wished that he had died, at least that way he'd have been put out of his misery.

20 minutes had passed until Finnick could stop thinking about his dream. He pulled the sheets off himself and got out of bed. Padding his way to the bathroom, he pulled the shirt off his head and winced in pain. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, disturbed by the look of the man who stared back at him. His reflection revealed an exhausted man, worn with anxiety. He traced a thumb across his bruised lip, noting the way the bruise had begun to fade nicely in the past few days. The circles beneath his eyes had more to do with the sheer exhaustion he'd faced the last few nights and less to do with the bruise stemming from the peak of his nose to the bottom of his left eye. At least it opened all the way now, no longer swelled shut and covered with a dark bruise. Finally there was the big red splotch on his right cheek, the one bruise that had refused to vanish despite his best attempts at treating it.

The biggest bruise, the worst pain came from the long bruise on his rib cage. He'd yet to seek medical attention for the cracked ribs. For the first few days even breathing hurt but the pain was nowhere near as intense as it had been any more. Never one for admitting he needed help, he decided to be stubborn and deal with the injury himself. He continued to study the 12 inch bruise on his chest for a few minutes longer, noting the way it almost covered his two bullet scars.

He deserved this, he thought. The physical and emotional damage he'd suffered in the past was brought on by his own selfish and callous behavior. He was a cold man, growing intensely more bitter each passing day. He knew he had to do something before it became a problem, before the loss of Peeta scarred him even more than Cato's beatings or the trauma he faced all that time ago.

Finnick made his way back to the bedroom, eying the dresser drawer. He pulled open the top drawer that contained articles of underwear, socks and ties. He placed his hand inside and lifted up various bundles of clothing until his hand wrapped around something hard, cold and heavy. He pulled out the M1911 pistol out and held it firmly in his hand. He released the cartridge and inspected it. It was lined with 6 small hollow point bullets.

He would never fire a gun again, he knew that. But on that particularly frightening morning, haunted with fears of his almost lost life, it felt very comforting and reassuring to know the pistol was close by.

Finnick placed the gun back in its place and closed the drawer.

* * *

"Do you want to come over tonight?" Peeta asked into his phone, unaware that he was holding his breath in anticipation, hoping for a positive answer, "I just-we haven't really spoken since-" He stopped himself from finishing what he needed to say mid-sentence. He took a deep breath and continued, "I miss you. I thought we could spend some time together tonight."

A long pause filled the next few seconds driving Peeta crazy with worry and frustration.

"_I can't tonight," _Cato said almost gruffly, a little too plain and simple in a certain manner of speaking that Peeta knew he couldn't stand. _"I've got other plans."_

Peeta nodded and closed his eyes, so tired and already sick of their newly antagonistic relationship. "Then when?" he asked, knowing the answer would definitely be intentionally vague and delivered in a bitter way, stripped of any remorse or regret.

"_Not tonight,"_ Cato replied, vague as ever. He impatiently grunted into the phone, _"I've got to go."_

"Okay," he replied, doing his best to hide the disappointment in his voice. "Goodnight."

The line went dead. Cato had already hung up.

As Peeta sat in his bed, beneath the sheets, devastated with the mess he had made himself, he realized it would take more than a phone call and an invitation to spend the night to help him redeem his shortcomings as someone's partner.

He wanted to be mad at Cato, furious with his silence and malevolence, but he couldn't. He had been forgiven days ago, but it was clear that such a short amount of time was not enough to heal bleeding wounds and broken hearts, and he had really broken Cato's heart. Peeta wanted to count his blessings, remind himself that at least the man was talking to him - albeit short, snarled replies but at least it was something. At least he didn't abandon him again, especially seeing as this time he deserved to be abandoned.

Peeta scooped up two large white pain pills in his hand and dropped them into his open mouth. He reached for the glass of water by the bed stand next to the pill bottle and took a small sip, washing the drugs down in anticipation of the sweet relief they would soon bring his stiff, throbbing shoulder.

He settled into bed with a frown, feeling the weight of truly being alone rest on his sore shoulders. It wasn't crippling but it was saddening. He may have been clinging to Cato with all his might, trying his best not to let go despite the man's urge to resist, but he may as well just have been alone.

Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply and let his mind wander. For the past week his thoughts had been turning to the bright lights of car beams blinding him in the middle of the road, the screech of the tires and the painful impact. His eyes opened and Peeta realized he was too scared to close them again.

He'd been so preoccupied with his other problems that his real fear had laid dormant, taking it's time to prey on his vulnerability. It was finally starting to catch up with him. He could feel his hands turning to fists, his fingernails digging into his skin, pinching it and leaving small red marks there.

It was all too much. All of it. His feelings were beginning to clash with his wounded pride. His guilt threw itself into the mix as his anger and panic over the car that struck him and the person behind the wheel. He felt like screaming, like running away from his small bedroom filled with memories he didn't want to be remembering, laying in a bed with sheets that draped over Finnick's naked body as they made love. It was the same bed frequented by Cato who'd also laid strewn between them. He sat back up and quickly picked his casted leg up and let it fall to the ground as he swung his other leg off the bed and bent forward, his head between his knees as he breathed deeply, trying his hardest not to cry and not to lose his cool.

After a little while he started to feel better, for the most part it was simply the drugs taking affect. Peeta laid back down in his bed, cradling a pillow beneath his head with his good arm. Once again his mind began to wander, only this time it didn't go to a dark place, he smiled and remembered the last time he was happy.

Peeta didn't feel guilty as he began drifting off to sleep. Fantasies and memories couldn't harm anyone. Even if they could, Cato wasn't exactly there to help him make any new ones to help him sleep. He couldn't help but wonder if Cato ever would again? Or was he just kidding himself and delaying the inevitable?


	17. Home

**Author's Note: I think it's funny how this chapter happened to fall so close to our real time Christmas Holidays. Feels like a TV Special. Thank you for your wonderful reviews. I found this chapter very easy to write, once I started I pretty much just kept working through and loved the final product. I have an outline for the next few chapters and the story that they will tell, I'm pretty psyched about it, I hope you will be too. Read. Review. Read Again! **

* * *

The streets were blanketed with snow that December 23rd. Peeta sat by the window in his room that night, watching the snow fall softly. The weather had peaked during the day but by the evening it had slowed down, leaving only light snowfall.

Almost every house on the street was decorated with cheerful Christmas lights that blinked and lit up in anticipation of the holiday. It made Peeta smile, temporarily distracting him from his worries. Being bound in a sling that held a healing broken arm and a cast that held a broken leg afforded him the luxury to isolate himself to his bedroom that night, waiting and hoping for Cato's promised arrival.

It had been a little over a week and Peeta was already fed up with his injuries. He missed going to work and leaving the house without assistance. He found it easier to remain upstairs, not wanting to burden his brother with the task of physically carrying him up and down the staircase. He poked his head out the window and took a deep breath of the cold air outside. What he wouldn't kill for a single cigarette.

It took him hours, almost half a day to convince Noah to attend a Christmas party with his friends. The older brother didn't want to leave him alone in the house for fear of an accidental injury or worse. As a result Peeta was required to text every half hour and assure him that he was okay. He found himself smiling when he would hear his phone buzz around on the desk, finding it comforting that there was still someone who cared enough about him to check in on him, even if that person was his brother.

He used his good leg to kick himself off the wall and roll his desk chair from the window to the other side of the room to retrieve his phone, smirking at his own cleverness and mentally laughing at the thought that he was indeed using a wheel chair to get around, even if it was a desk chair with wheels on it.

His smile quickly vanished and worry appeared across his face when he realized the text was from Cato. His stomach turned, expecting only bad news. Instead it simply read **"**_**Here.**_**"**

Peeta texted back quickly. _**"I'm upstairs. Let yourself in."**_

Only seconds after he hit send, he could already hear the faint sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by the creak of stairs and footsteps in the hallway outside of his door.

"So Noah's not here?" Cato asked as he pushed the door open and let himself into the room, kicking the door closed with his foot.

Peeta shook his head slyly, "Nope. We've got the place to ourselves."

He shrugged, "Fine," he replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning up against the wall by the door as if he wasn't planning on staying very long.

Peeta could read Cato like a book. It didn't take an expert to understand the man was still furious with him, but his declaration of forgiveness had ruined any chance of the silent treatment and now he was forced to only communicate in short, half hearted and painfully obvious angry retorts. What was worse was the way he would avoid eye contact at all costs.

"Can you help me up," Peeta asked, aware his crutches were within reach but merely looking at the simple gesture of forced kindness as a gesture to put some much needed contact between them.

Cato came closer without a word. Seemingly, without any care or thought he placed both hands beneath Peeta's arm pits and roughly yanked him too his feet, jerking the smaller man's shoulder in the process, causing him to let out a pained gasp.

"Careful," Peeta groaned as his shoulder began to throb.

The taller man ignored the comment and released the man's good arm as Peeta tried to pull himself free from his hold. Before he had a chance to, Cato swung an arm around his back and propped him onto the bed, immediately resuming his place by the door as Peeta carefully rubbed his shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" Peeta asked, glaring at him with distain.

"It was an accident," Cato muttered with his lip curled.

Peeta felt the anger rise deep inside. "Bullshit," he replied, "That was way too rough and you did it on purpose. Do you feel better now?"

"About what?"

"About what I did," he mumbled, still ashamed to say the words out loud, "Does it feel better to treat me this way?"

Cato waved a dismissive hand at him, "You're fine. Stop being such a fucking baby."

He didn't respond any further, instead Peeta sat on the bed keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. He deserved this, he thought, this was the price he had to pay for his betrayal. There were harsher punishments than being in a hostile relationship.

"Are you ever going to talk to me again?" Peeta asked softly, "I know I messed up and you have every right to be angry. I know you're mad-"

"-I'm not mad," Cato snarled, "But if you think I'm just going to flip a switch and get over this you're out of your fucking mind. You fucked up, Peeta."

Peeta nodded, "I know."

"How the hell could you do that to me?" He exclaimed, stepping closer to the bed, "God Damnit, I was so in love with you! After all the time we've been together I fucked up once-"

"-So did I," Peeta retorted, "I never wanted to hurt you. I will never see Finnick again. I only care about you."

His words stopped Cato in his tracks. He looked at Peeta, his mouth gaping, "But you were in love with him? Weren't you?"

"It doesn't matter." He eyed the window again, wanting so desperately to be outside, away from Cato and the endless interrogation.

Cato frowned, "I think it does. I think it really does given that in the time I've been back you haven't _once_ told me you love me." He muttered the words in a way that made it seem like a sudden clarity had washed over him. "Are you in love with me?"

Peeta hesitated, knowing with each passing second of silence he would only incriminate himself more but still unsure of how to respond to such a question. "I love who we used to be, before everything went wrong."

"And what changed?" Cato asked after a moment, "I'm back, I'm here. What the hell is the difference if I was absent for a little while?"

"A lot," he replied, speaking slowly and crafting his words carefully. "We were so happy back then. When mom and dad died something inside of me did too. I never thought I could be as happy as I was a year ago until…" he stopped himself upon realizing he hadn't crafted his words as carefully as he wanted.

"Until what, Peeta?" Cato asked impatiently.

He sighed heavily, "Until I met him…"

They both felt silent. Peeta's latest confession had ruined any chances of an argument free evening. Distraught, Cato sat in the empty desk chair with his arms leaning on his knees, staring at Peeta in anger.

"What the hell could he have _possibly_ given you that I didn't?" Cato asked quietly.

Peeta shrugged, "At first I thought I was just filling a void in your absence, that maybe he was just a distraction. But it wasn't like that. He brought me back to life after my parents died and you took off." He stopped talking, only to gaze up at Cato who stared back in silence, waiting for him to elaborate further. "He didn't want to be with me the way I wanted him to, but I knew deep down he cared about me. We looked after each other. I felt like his possession, but in a good way. Not to make him look good or stroke his ego, but like someone he needed in his life to be happy."

Cato felt the tears rise in his eyes as the man he loved spoke words about another man he wanted to hear spoken to him. "So that's why you slept with him?"

"No," Peeta said quickly, feeling his eyes water, "Because he told me he loved me and I chose you instead. I knew I wanted to be with you, only you. I knew that we could be happy together. There he was, opening up and giving me his heart and I wasn't taking it. I could see him feeling the same pain I felt when you left me, or when he didn't reciprocate my feelings. The thought of him being heartbroken broke my heart."

"Shit," Cato muttered in frustration, "What about my heart, Peeta?" he asked, "Did you stop and think about me?"

Peeta shook his head, "Not really, and for that I will never stop being sorry. I will never forgive myself for not thinking about you. I told myself that I was going to be with him one last time before being with you forever." He hung his head in shame, "That's what I still want. I only want you."

Cato sat forward and buried his face in his hands, crying softly. Peeta could see the bruises on his knuckles that still marked his hands days ago.

"Tell me you can forgive me," Peeta said softly, "You're so angry at me, I know you even hate me a little, but please tell me we can move past this…"

"I don't forgive you," Cato sighed after a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his bruised hand, "I can't forgive this."

Peeta felt a tear run down his cheek, "I made a mistake. I-I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"It's not that," he sighed, shaking his head and furrowing his brow in anger. "I could forgive you for having sex with him, but it's more than that. It's so much more than that, Peeta."

"It's not," Peeta protested, leaning forward and placing a hand on the man's knee. "It's really not. We just need some time and-"

"-No," Cato snarled, pushing his hand away, "It's not a matter of what you did or time needed to move past this. You're in love with him and not me. That's the problem."

Peeta gaped as more tears fell, "I can't help it, Cato. I just need you to stay with me and remind me of the time when all we had was each other and how much we meant to one another."

Cato rose to his feet, wiping away more tears as he stepped forward. "No. I can't sit around and wonder every day if you're still thinking about him when you should only be thinking about me. I can't do it."

"Please," Peeta begged, rising off the bed and clutching Cato's shirt for support to keep his balance off his casted leg and also stop him from leaving. "Don't do this. I need to make this right."

The taller man shook his head once again, "It's not about making it right, don't you understand that?" He clutched Peeta's good arm to support his weight as he slowly set him back down on the bed. He dropped to his knees in front of him, "I know you, Peeta. This isn't about making it work with us because you want it to, you just want to do right by me. You want to make amends because you're a good person, you'd rather be with me because you think it's the right thing to do. You should be with the person you love."

"That's not the reason," Peeta cried, choking back his tears, "That's not the _whole_ reason."

Cato nodded, "Yes it is." He stood up as Peeta continued to cry. "I'm going to go."

Peeta stared after him, "I'm so sorry, Cato."

"I know you are," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know you didn't want to hurt me."

A weight felt like it had been lifted off of both of them as both Cato and Peeta realized they shouldn't be together. They may have been a perfect fit at another time, but too much had changed for them to ever be like what they once were. Time had moved them both on and things had changed radically in the past year. They weren't soul mates, they weren't friends, just two people who shared a long and complicated history, one of both great happiness and sadness.

Peeta didn't know what to think or say as he watched Cato turn for the door. His heart wanted to stop him and continue delaying the inevitable because even after everything he didn't want to see the man's heart broken, but that wasn't fair either. Cato was right. The realization that doing the seemingly right thing when his heart wasn't truly in place didn't make it the right choice, but a bad one.

"Where will you go now?" Peeta asked.

Cato paused and turned around, "I don't know. We always manage to take care of ourselves. Just not each other."

With that last remark, Cato let himself out the door and out of Peeta's life.

His heart felt heavy and sore. Outside the window Peeta could hear the sound of Christmas carolers walking down the street singing 'Joy to the World' with glee in their voices. The irony of the song selection was not lost on him as he laid in his bed and cried.

It was a release. Soon a new year would start and Peeta would have the luxury of letting the present one be nothing but a memory, no longer a time he would have to be trapped in. He hoped with all he could that there would be no pain, no agony, no turmoil in the new year. He had been through so much in such a short time. He had lost loved ones, been hurt and hurt others.

Now he had two choices. He could be alone and isolate himself, too afraid to make any new connections out of fear that his own actions or actions beyond his control would take them away, or he could do what he needed to do to be happy once again. He didn't want to start a new year still trying to find his place in the world, discovering how to be happy.

* * *

Finnick woke to the sound of knocking at his door. He quickly sat up in his bed, the morning sun shone in brightly through the large window of his bedroom. He reached for the table by his bed and checked his watch, it wasn't even 7:00 yet. Pushing the bronze locks out of his face, he pulled the blankets off his half dressed form, feeling the coldness rise all over his body.

His bare feet hit the floor and after a few seconds he rose from his bed and proceeded down the hall to the living room, just as the knocking sounded once again. He unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open his front door. Peeta stood hunched over, gripping a crutch beneath his good shoulder. Finnick smiled at the presence of the small, blonde man dressed in a black hooded sweater over the bulky cast on his arm that still held upright in a sling, and what appeared to be pajama pants with one of the pant legs rolled up, exposing another bulky white cast. He noticed the backpack on his back.

"Please tell me you didn't walk over here," Finnick mused with a tired smile, "Or should I say limp?"

Peeta watched him with a face more surprised than his own, "Why are you covered in bruises? _I'm_ the one that got hit by a car."

Finnick felt his jaw drop, terrified that the answer would drive the man away. He completely forgot about his bruises in his shuffle to answer the door, after all he hadn't even been awake for 5 minutes. "I assumed Cato would have told you what happened…"

The smaller man stilled for a moment, the realization of what really occurred calculating in his head like the last piece of the puzzle. "Can I come in?"

"Y-Yeah, of course," Finnick blurted, stepping out of the doorway to make room.

Finnick took a step back to clear the doorway as he pulled the door open wide. Peeta leveraged his underarms onto the crutch and started to hobble into the apartment. Finnick watched the man carefully, frowning when he heard a slight grunt of pain emit from the young man's mouth. He closed the door behind him, before stepping closer to the smaller man and helping him out of his backpack which he casually tossed onto the couch.

"I didn't know," Peeta said softly as he eyed the various bruises on Finnick's face, "I'm so sorry."

Finnick smiled in an assuring way with a level of warmth and calm, "C'mon, we both know I had this coming." He paused for a moment, "Does he know you're here?"

Peeta looked at the ground, gently kicking his cast with his good foot, "We broke up last night." He gazed at Finnick with sadness in his blue eyes, "You two shouldn't have fought. Believe me, I'm not worth it."

The taller man shrugged his shoulders, "No, we shouldn't have fought. But you are worth it, Peeta," he said as he stepped forward and held the younger man in his arms finally. "Seriously, how did you get over here?"

Peeta reciprocated his smile brightly, "Noah dropped me off on his way to work. He insisted on helping me get up the elevator, but I assured him I could make it." He looked up at him, smiling brightly.

A warm hand gently rested on Finnick's bare hip as fingertips brushed along flesh ever so slightly. Finnick's arm wrapped around Peeta's back carefully as he pulled the man in for a tight embrace. His blonde hair smelled like it always did, his body was as warm as ever. Finnick held onto the moment for much longer than he needed to. This was what he would always look back on and remember, Peeta was alive and okay, real in his arms, beautiful and extraordinary as ever.

"You want to get some sleep?" Peeta mumbled into his chest, his warm breathe tickling his skin causing gooseflesh to rise.

Finnick kept his face pressed into Peeta's hair, "Yeah." he couldn't contain the smile that grew across his face, "How long have I got you for?"

Peeta chuckled, "Just today. I want to spend Christmas with my brother. We've got a place for you at the table."

"Sounds good," Finnick said softly, "Sounds perfect." He took Peeta's weight off his bad leg and wrapped the man's good arm around his own neck while his arm held the lower of Peeta's back, supporting most of his weight, "C'mon," he said as they made their way to the bedroom.

He helped Peeta into the bed, resting on his heels as the younger man got comfortable. Pulling down the zipper of his hoodie he carefully freed the broken arm from the sleeve before completely removing it from the man's body. He helped Peeta out of the sling that bound his arm, allowing his arm to be free but also very, very still as any sudden movement could bring pain.

Finnick sat on the bed behind the smaller man, studying the scars and stitches from the wounded shoulder, he gently kissed the scar the way Peeta would kiss his own. The imperfection only made him more perfect to him. Finnick removed his own shirt before carefully taking Peeta by the shoulders and laying him down in his strong arms. They laid together in silence for a few moments, Peeta laying on his good side and resting his broken arm across Finnick's chest.

"You're the only person I care about," Finnick said softly, "You're my best friend, you're my family and I love you, no matter what happens, no matter where we stand."

Peeta's eyes stayed focused on his. He nodded and sighed heavily "This is exactly where I want to be, okay?"

Finnick pulled Peeta closed as he watched the smaller man close his eyes. "Okay. Get some sleep."

"I love you," Peeta mumbled so softly it was almost a whisper.


	18. Power Play

**Author's Note: Well, I know Peeta/Cato shippers will be pretty disappointed, but I can't tell you how hard it has been to keep these two characters apart. It was so hard I couldn't even do it this whole time, I guess we just kept backsliding. I hope you're all happy with the direction of this story. This chapter will move the story along, but I also decided to throw a little overdue fluff and smut in for good measure. See you soon!**

* * *

Finnick surveyed his bedroom as he emerged from the bathroom and made his way over to the dresser. Wrapped only in a towel, he almost stumbled as he slipped on a pair of silk boxers that had been carelessly dropped in the middle of the floor, a pair that did not belong to him. He shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. He dropped his towel and removed a pair of underwear and slipped them on, not wanting to make too much sound and wake the peaceful man sleeping in his bed.

The one pristine bedroom was now untidy. Various articles of Peeta's clothing along with random possessions were everywhere. If it were anyone else, Finnick would be annoyed, but the truth was that the mess made his once cold apartment feel more like a home.

He opened the wardrobe and retrieved a sharp, deep blue shirt off a hanger. Stuffing his arms through, he pulled the shirt closed and began on the buttons, noting the hint of cologne on his skin.

"Where are you going?" Peeta asked.

Finnick turned and found Peeta awake, sitting up in his bed with a puzzled look on his face. His foot was now secured in a shorter cast that extended from his lower calf to the end of his foot after having the bulk of it removed when his doctor was confidant the extent of the damage in his leg and knee had healed. His arm was now free of it's binding sling. Watching him mend made Finnick feel the upmost pride and happiness as his broken bones began to heal.

"It's Monday," Finnick replied with a chipper smile, "Back to work."

Peeta rolled his eyes and scrambled out of bed, covered in quilts and sheets. "I completely forgot," he sighed as he slipped into the pair of his dislodged pajama pants and made his way over to the mirror Finnick was standing in front of. He reached into the dresser drawer and removed a black tie, holding it up to the dark blue shirt and mentally deciding how it would look on the man. "You can't take one more day off?"

"No," he replied sarcastically, "One day with you turns into a week, which turns into three, which turns into my entire Christmas vacation." He leaned forward and kissed Peeta chastely on the lips. "You know if I had my way I'd stay here with you right?" he mumbled into Peeta's lips before pressing another kiss there.

Peeta blushed, dropping his head to the ground shyly. He lifted Finnick's collar and began fastening the tie around his neck, "This is nice," he sighed, "Me getting you ready like this."

He chuckled, "You could always move in y'know. After everything that happened I kind of like the idea of you being here when I get back, not sneaking off in the middle of the day."

"I'm not sneaking," Peeta replied, holding his hands up defensively, "I just don't want to outstay my welcome. Besides, I've got a whole half a house to myself." He finished pulling the fat end of the tie through the loop and fastened it straight. A perfect Windsor knot. He ran his hands over Finnick's shoulders, admiring his handy work.

"Yeah, but you don't have me there all the time," Finnick replied with a mischievous grin on his face as he reached out and grabbed Peeta by the elastic waistband of his pajama pants. "Hey," he said, thumping Peeta's chin up to meet his eyeline, "I'm serious. Move in with me. Don't you want to wake up with me every morning?" he asked, kissing Peeta's ear gently.

Peeta rolled his eyes and grasped Finnick's hip, "That's what I do half the week and every weekend anyway."

Finnick smiled, "But what if I want you all to myself?"

"I am yours," Peeta said with a smile as he turned away to blush again, "But it's too soon. What happened to taking it slowly?"

"Fuck taking it slowly," he sighed, "I just want you with me."

Peeta limped back over to the bed, taking a seat on the end and staring up at Finnick, weighing his offer in his head. "You're missing your pants," he pointed out with a nod at Finnick in his underwear.

"I can see that," he replied, opening up the wardrobe and fishing out a pair of charcoal slacks.

"I want to move in," Peeta said with a smile, "I really do, but we can't rush into this. I'm not really ready to move out of my house or away from Noah, especially since he gave up his place to move home and take care of me."

He resigned with a nod as he tugged the pants up to his waist and retrieved a black leather belt from the wardrobe. "How long will I have to wait for you?"

"A while," Peeta replied with a smile, "But not forever."

"Okay," he said with a grin as he fastened his pants and took a couple of steps closer, "You know there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you right?"

Peeta nodded, "I know."

Finnick turned and checked his appearance in the mirror, straightening out his hair and cuffs. Peeta observed Finnick from the bed, noting the way his morning regime was almost effortless in making him look well presented, sharp and beautiful. He smiled as Finnick closed the gap between them in a few steps and leaned in to kiss him deeply on the lips.

"Will I see you tonight?" Finnick asked with a raised eyebrow, "I need to know wether or not to pick up dinner."

The younger man chuckled and nodded, "Someone's gotta clean up this crap," he said sarcastically, indicating to the untidy bedroom with his good hand.

"Tell the maid her tip is on the counter," Finnick joked as he turned and headed for the door. "What do you feel like tonight? Pizza?"

Peeta shrugged, "It's okay, I can make us something."

"Sounds good," he said with a grin, "I'll see you tonight."

The younger man kept the smile on his face as he listened to Finnick's footsteps retreat down the hallway before being silenced by the sound of the front door closing. He peered around the room, noting the mess he'd left and chuckling to himself at the realization that he had been treating Finnick's home like a hotel. He rose from the bed and began straightening stray items and picking up various articles of clothing. It wasn't until he retrieved one of Finnick's pressed ties from the floor that something caught his eye.

Peeta peered into the open dresser drawer. His hand wrapped around the metal handle of the pistol, he retrieved it from inside. His eyes widened in awe of the feel of it. He never expected it to feel so heavy. A surprising feeling took over.

Power.

He didn't know how to check if the safety was on and assuming was never a safe bet. He didn't even know if the gun was loaded. He was tempted to wrap a finger around the trigger just to feel it, but fear got the better of him. It turned him on to think of Finnick using it, defending him with it, harming someone who wished harm upon them.

It was hardly a surprise that Finnick was in possession of a firearm given his previous profession, but Peeta hadn't expected that. There were many additional components that came with choosing a former soldier as a mate. Slight trauma, god complex's and complete and utter arrogance, Peeta couldn't figure out what about the whole situation it was that concerned him, only that something was.

He placed the gun back inside the drawer and pushed it to the back where he found it. He closed the drawer immediately. A bad feeling in the pit of his stomach began stirring.

* * *

Peeta was pulled from his sleep by Finnick's murmurs and movement in bed that night, the second time that week. The episodes were becoming more frequent in the past few weeks. Peeta awoke and quickly rolled over, jerking his shoulder as he did which prompted him to wince in pain. Sweat had already broken out on Finnick's forehead, the man tossed heavily enough to shake the bed, hard enough to almost be considered a thrash.

"Finnick," Peeta urged with desperation in his voice, "Wake up." He took hold of the man's bare shoulders and attempted to shake him, only to be overpowered and pushed away.

"Finnick!" Peeta yelled, shoving him roughly and hard enough to make the larger man's back hit the table by the bed. As the lamp on the table fell from the surface and broke on the floor with a loud crash, Finnick opened his eyes.

They both sat in silence as the moment passed and they mentally collected their thoughts, keeping the bad ones to themselves and making sure they wouldn't escape through their mouths. Finnick didn't want to face up to his own burning shame while Peeta didn't want to feel the weight of his building concern for the man he loved and worried about more and more with each episode of what could only be a building stress disorder.

"I'm sorry," Finnick mumbled as he rubbed his shoulder, "I'm sorry this keeps happening."

Peeta reached over and turned the lamp on, filling the darkened room with a soft dim light from the one remaining lamp. He brought his knees to his chin as he turned his neck and stared at Finnick, "It's getting worse," he said softly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Peeta felt the panic inside worsen as he observed the look of dissociation in Finnick's weary traumatised eyes. Finnick was looking at him with the thousand yard stare, Peeta knew that he hadn't been dreaming but remembering the people that wanted to hurt him, the people that did.

"Is it me?" Peeta asked with a hitch in his breath.

"No," Finnick responded immediately, "No, no, no." Without another word he inched closer to the smaller man, wrapping one arm around his stomach and pulling his back into his chest. Finnick rested his chin on Peeta's shoulder like they fit together perfectly that way. "Don't ever think that this has anything to do with you. It's all me. It's all the shit in my head."

Peeta nodded, rubbing the man's hand reassuringly with his own. "Why has it started now? Of all times?"

"It hasn't," he sighed heavily, "It's been happening for a while now. Admittedly it hasn't been this bad since I was in the hospital right after it happened." He held Peeta's bare body tightly against his own as he nuzzled his chin into the nape of his neck, finding the warmth that radiated from his skin amazing.

"What's it like?" Peeta asked as he drew in a sharp breath when a hand travelled down his lower back and rested on his bare thigh.

Finnick rubbed softly, too afraid to let Peeta out of his grasp. "It's like sometimes when I go to sleep, I'm pulled back into the whole thing. I can't wake up because it's not a dream and I'm not aware that it already happened. It happens all over again and all I can do is panic." His scratchy voice was exhausted and shaky, he clutched Peeta tighter.

"So what do we do?" Peeta asked, suppressing the urge to yawn.

He shrugged and pressed his lips to the shell of the blonde man's ear, "I don't know. The thought of going back to therapy is worse than the dreams themselves."

Finnick's instant dismissal of the idea annoyed Peeta but he didn't say anything. As much as he wanted to take on the man's problems and help him, he knew this was something Finnick had to get past himself. His presence was clearly doing little to prevent the constant bouts of stress that were manifesting in his dreams, all he could do was hold onto Finnick tighter and refuse to let go. He smiled as he felt Finnick's lips move from his ear to the scars on his shoulder and begin kissing gently.

"My shoulder still looks off," Peeta grumbled, rubbing the cast his foot was still in.

"No it doesn't," Finnick chuckled, "You're paranoid. It looks fine."

"It's fucked," he muttered, "My foot still cramps up, I've got those hideous surgery scars up and down my shoulder blade."

Finnick smiled, "They're healing nicely, Peeta." He laid back down on the mattress with his arms still wrapped around the smaller frame, pulling him down with him. "Soon, hopefully everything that happened at Christmas will feel like a bad dream."

"Hopefully not the kind you have," Peeta said sarcastically, craning his neck to look at Finnick, "Sorry, I shouldn't be complaining about it. It's done, can't be undone."

"It's okay," Finnick sighed, "You have the right to be upset."

"I'm not upset." He rolled over so they were face to face. "I'm furious. Whenever I get a chance to stop and _really_ think about it, I start seething. I can feel my blood boil. I think about someone who didn't even know me, leaving me to die in the snow. I think about how Noah would have felt with no family left and it makes me sick." His words were making him tremble in anger, he could feel his fists clenching.

Finnick's hand reached up for the blonde locks and began stroking them delicately as Peeta's heart started to stop racing and his anger had begun to wane. Finnick always knew what to do and what to say to make him calm down, he felt the magic in his own touch and the effect it had on the man he loved.

"When you were laying in the street that night you were so cold and lifeless. There were a few moments when I thought I'd lost you, I saw a glimpse into a world without you and I hated it." He casually ran his thumb across Peeta's lower lip. "I promised myself, and you that if you woke up I'd always keep you safe and never let anything bad happen to you."

He moved his lips from the man's ear to his lips. He captured Peeta's mouth so delicately and rewarded him with a kiss. As their lips touched he felt Peeta's hand cup his cheek before the younger man let out a soft groan as their mouths opened and he allowed Finnick's tongue inside. Peeta could feel the heat rising in his face, enjoying the feel of the man's lips on his immensely. As their lips parted Finnick's hand moved down to rest on Peeta's bare chest allowing him to feel his heart beat.

"I intend to keep my word," he said softly, "I'll never let anything bad happen to you again."

Peeta smiled up at Finnick, "I'm not completely helpless."

The older man let out a small laugh and leaned down to kiss him once more, "I know you're not, but I protect what I care about."

Peeta lifted his head and kissed Finnick on the cheek before letting it fall back against the pillow. With one arm supporting him, Finnick held his frame hovering about the younger man as he watched him fall back asleep.

"I love you, Finnick."

"I love you too."

* * *

"You promised me you'd take it easy," Finnick chuckled as he kept one arm wrapped tightly around Peeta, supporting the weight on his bad side.

It would ordinarily take a little longer than usual to move around with Peeta's foot being in the state it was, his drunken stupor only made it that much more difficult. He sat his drunken companion down on a bus bench as he inspected his watch and cursed himself for agreeing to such a poorly thought out plan, but Peeta had been itching to get out for over a week. With all the progress he had been making Finnick knew if the younger man needed anything in the world, it was to do whatever he wanted for one night. It was now how he found himself with Peeta on a sidewalk in the dead of night in January.

"You promised me a night out," Peeta chuckled, looking up at the older man who watched the empty street for sign of the cab he called minutes earlier.

Finnick shook his head and knelt down by the younger man, "I was thinking dinner and a movie, not shots at a bar."

"It's my way of making up for New Years," Peeta laughed and held his arm out for Finnick, "Can you help me up? I want to show you something."

"You're drunk," Finnick chuckled as he rose to his feet and helped Peeta to his. "I thought you had fun on New Years Eve. You told me you loved it."

The younger man smiled, "I did," he said, taking Finnick's hand into his own and leading him down an alley between the bookstore and the bank, "It was perfect. Now shut up, I want to show you something."

The ground had been lightly peppered with snowfall while whipping winds blew and made Peeta's nose red. He didn't care. The night out had done him good and now he felt giddy and revitalized. Being refused permission to go back to work had left him bored and restless. His only highlight, the only time of the day he could look forward to was when Finnick would walk through the door at 5pm. He was determined to get better, starting that night.

He squeezed Finnick's hand tighter as he led him to a secluded spot hidden in the shadows on that cold night, smiling at the realization that this was the first time they had been out together as a couple.

"What are you doing?" Finnick asked softly with genuine confusion in his voice. "Let's get you to bed."

Peeta shook his head and pushed Finnick into the brick wall, kissing him roughly. His good hand rested on the man's throat as Finnick's hands fisted in Peeta's jacket. The kiss was long and deliberate. Peeta had missed the taste of scotch on Finnick's mouth, the way they would kiss after sharing a drink, simply being out with him. He whimpered as Finnick's hands travelled down to his belt while his tongue entered his eager mouth, sparring with his own. Their kiss broke as Finnick's hand delved into the front of Peeta's pants and the younger man let out a gasp.

"Wait," he gasped, pulled Finnick's hand out of his pants and placing a soft kiss on his lips, "I want you so badly," he panted as his expert hands found the taller man's belt.

He stared into the green eyes as he pulled the leather through the buckle and pulled down the zipper. His cold hands warmed up as they wrapped around the hardened flesh and removed him from the confines of his underwear. He wrapped his hand around and squeezed Finnick tightly, amused by the lust in his eyes. Peeta fell to his knees and wrapped his lips around the engorged flesh.

The older man gaped as he felt Peeta's mouth go to work on him. He let his head fall back against the brick wall and began breathing heavily as the younger man graciously licked up and down his shaft with one hand remaining at the base of his erect penis stroking in earnest.

He quickly looked around, they were completely out of sight of any prying eyes or pedestrians who happened by, it was just the two of them, perfect together. Finnick forced himself to watch Peeta's bobbing blonde head in the moonlight, shivering occasionally when he saw the beautiful blue eyes look up at him. Peeta's cheeks were hollowed out as he began sucking harder and faster.

Occasionally slight groans would emit from Peeta's mouth adding to the overall thrill of the sensation. Finnick admitted that he could stay like that forever, just the two of them. He had never been more in love with Peeta as he was at that moment, feeling Peeta's mouth on him while his good hand massaged his balls, doing everything he could to touch him as if he couldn't get enough. Finnick knew that once this was over he would return the favour.

Peeta's hand moved up from around the hardened shaft and up to massage the thick patch of dark pubic hair while his other hand continued working on the man's hairy balls like he was ravaged. As Finnick's panting began growing more intense and his groaning became less restrained and more ecstatic, Peeta sped up, taking the man as deep into his mouth as he could, the way he knew he liked.

It wasn't too long before Finnick came, pushed to the edge by a particularly deep suck that had the tip of his dick touch the back of Peeta's throat. He shuddered as he released himself into the younger man's mouth, his mouth gaping as he felt Peeta take him all without hesitation. He watched as Peeta's hand lingered on his messy length for a few moments longer before tucking him back into his underwear and pulling his pants back up.

Peeta rose to his feet and chuckled as he watched Finnick collect himself. "Don't tell me you're getting too old for this," he laughed, fisting a hand in Finnick's shirt to stop himself from stumbling.

Finnick cocked his head, "Is my age suddenly an issue, you little shit?"

"No," Peeta replied with a smile, "I don't care about that, only you," he said as he gently bit his own lip.

The older man grinned and bought his warm hand up to wrap behind Peeta's head, pulling him in closer and planting a small kiss on his puffed lips. "You're making me crazy, Peeta."

They stood together embracing as the snow started to fall. Wrapped in Finnick's strong arms, Peeta never felt safer and more loved. It were simple moments like this he dreamed of, now they had finally come true. He smiled and wrapped his arms around Finnick's neck as he listed to the soft lips pressed against the shell of his ear whisper things that he always wanted to hear and was now being told as if Finnick had read his mind. He too had never been more in love with the man as he was on that night.


	19. Off My Chest

**Author's Note: Hi Everyone. **

**I've reached the final arc of my story. I have really had a fantastic time writing this story and it's really made me so happy to see how many of you have bookmarked or commented on this story. I'm sure with Catching Fire on it's way into post-production, many more Peeta/Finnick stories will come to light and it makes me really happy.  
**

**I have decided to end this story with Chapter 21. I have told the story I wanted to while at the same time mixing enough drama in it to make it last 21 chapters. Although I have been rather slack posting this chapter (a month) I would like to say again that I will finish this story and hopefully the last two chapters will be posted shortly. Ideally I'd like to have them both up by the end of February.  
**

**Thank you for your continuing support and praise, I will see you see soon when I have another chapter to post. ****Please read and enjoy. **  


* * *

Peeta sat slumped against the side of his car in the garage with both of his legs outstretched in front of him. He rubbed the calf of his now healed leg. There was now an unfamiliar feeling below his ankle where the bone had broken. A lump. Confirmed by his doctor and assured it was nothing to worry about, Peeta still couldn't help but stress about this new disfigurement as he cringed to himself for even completely disregarding his lack of ability to find a better term for a simple small protrusion of a bone.

"Spanner," Noah remarked from beneath the Dodge Challenger that suspended off the ground with help of a jack.

"What size?" he asked the pair of legs that belonged to his brother, who lay on a creeper with an arm outstretched.

"Ten," Noah replied, impatiently snapping his greasy fingers that were covered in black, signalling the extent of labor he had put into Peeta's car.

The younger brother felt the burden of an issue on his shoulders, one he had been wanting to discuss for the past week but couldn't seem to find the courage to bring up. Instead he simply resumed listening to the distant sound of the radio play as he sat by the driver's side door of his broken down car and watched as his brother continued repairing the car that had so much hard work put into it before the untimely death of their parents.

"Why are you so quiet?" Noah asked as he wheeled out from beneath the car with a spanner in his hand.

His forehead was spotted with grease that slightly peppered his slicked back blonde hair. He wiped the sweat off his brown with the back of his hand, leaving another small black stain there.

Peeta rose from the cement floor and over to the workbench where he retrieved a bottle of water. He handed it to his brother without a word and resumed his position on the cement, staring at the various tools that had been spread out in an attempt to bring life back into his car.

"Peeta?"

He looked up at his brother who wore a look of confusion and impatience.

"At least now I won't have to borrow your car anymore," Peeta said with a chipper smile, hoping it would be enough to hide suspicion and pretend there wasn't a deeper problem he was keeping to himself.

Noah stared him down for a moment. Peeta hated when his brother would do that. His ability to sense a lie or half-truth was uncanny and all too unsettling for Peeta, even when he didn't have anything bad to hide, especially when he did.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"What's up with you?" Noah asked, seeing right through his younger brother's poker face.

Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and faced his brother. He immediately felt his heart race faster in an eerie feeling of anticipation, excitement and fear.

"It's about Finnick," he said with trepidation in his voice.

Noah chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes, hardly surprised about the subject matter. "I thought so."

Peeta frowned at his brother's sense of humour. "What?" he asked impatiently.

"Nothing," he replied, following another laugh at the look of seriousness in Peeta's face. "It's just, you look so serious. Did you two break up?"

He gaped, "Of course not," Peeta replied, feeling a little insulted.

"Then why do you look like you're about to tell me my puppy died?" Noah asked as he continued to snigger. "Honestly, it's always so dramatic with you, Peeta."

He shrugged and felt a small smile appear on his face.

"It's not always about me, is it?" Peeta asked. "I mean, I don't only come to you with my stuff. I'm not that self-centered, am I?"

Noah wiped the grease from his hands on a rag before kneeling down by the jack. "You're not self-centered," he said as he gripped two hands on the jack and began lowering the car, "So tell me what's up."

Peeta couldn't hide the smile from appearing across his face. "Finnick wants me to move in with him."

"Really?" He grinned, part nervous, part happy for his younger brother.

Peeta nodded, "Yeah."

The conversation had ground to a halt. Peeta was more than ready to begin justifying all the reasons why it was a good idea, why it was important for them to take a step forward in their relationship, all the while realizing he was an adult who could make this decision on his own.

In truth, it wasn't about permission. It was about blessing. If Noah didn't support his decision, it was probably for a good reason. More importantly, it was probably a sign he shouldn't proceed. He stared at his older brother without realizing he was holding his breath, waiting for a reaction.

Noah nodded approvingly, "You should do it."

Peeta felt the air inflate his lungs. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?" he remarked with an indifferent shrug, almost as if his brother had just shared the most casual of news with him.

The younger man laughed, relieved at the support he was receiving. "Really? You're okay with this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Noah shot him a similar reaction, "You rely way too much on what I think, Peeta."

He was surprised. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Noah replied, "But you can't run every single decision you ever make by me. Why do you do that?"

The younger man looked at him with a questioning face that didn't understand why he would even ask such a question. He thought the answer was clear. "I don't want to screw things up again."

"Yeah? But what does that have to do with me?" He asked.

Peeta sighed, "You'll stop me from screwing it all up again."

"No, Peeta," he replied, "The fact that you're actually happy at this juncture of your life will stop you from screwing it up." Noah rose and leaned up against the hood of the car, tilting his head in the direction of the driver's side door.

The smaller man opened the door to the car and slid into the driver's seat. "Will you still have my back if I do though?"

Noah chuckled, "Just don't get involved with drugs or hook up with any ex-boyfriends and Finnick will be fine."

Peeta laughed. His brother's words put him at ease again. Life hadn't resumed, it was just starting for him. It would still be something he knew he'd have to remind himself, but things _would_ be fine. They had to be.

He turned the key in the ignition. Both brothers exclaimed loudly as the engine of Peeta's car roared back to life.

* * *

"I don't really know where to start," Finnick sighed as he slumped further into the black leather couch in the office of Dr. Eleanor Meade.

He diverted eye contact with the woman he was paying to be his new confidant. She was in her early 50's with brown hair that flowed down gracefully to the nape of her neck. She sat a few inches away from him, facing his direction with a legal pad resting on her crossed legs, a silver ballpoint pen dangled in her well-manicured fingers.

She smiled at him warmly, "Most people start with what brings them to my couch. Why don't we start there?"

With that, the tone of their relationship had been set. Finnick's green eyes caught her brown ones for a brief second before returning to the beige carpet. Even at the age of 25, he felt like he was back in high school, he the student and the doctor his teacher. He didn't understand what it was that caused him to feel so nervous and anxious. It may have been his reluctance to open up about his inner-most fears to a stranger, or the terror of what would happen when he reminded himself about those fears, regardless, Finnick could feel a bead of sweat break out on his forehead.

"Finnick?" she said, indicating for him to begin.

He shrugged and began fiddling with the button on his jacket that he had refused to remove, hoping he wouldn't have to stay for too long. "Honestly, I'm just hoping you can prescribe me something to help me sleep."

She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled, "I don't just write out prescriptions. If you want my help you're going to need to start at the beginning."

"You already know why I can't sleep," he sighed, crossing his arms in frustration, "I filled out all that information on my paper work."

Doctor Meade shook her head and began writing on her legal pad as she spoke. "If you wanted help sleeping you could have seen your regular doctor, you could have picked up some Ambien." She began tapping her silver pen against the leather armrest of the seat. "If you want to get to the root of the problem you're going to have to try a little harder than that."

His green eyes finally met hers. He nodded solemnly, "Okay."

"Good," she sighed, folding her hands in her lap and crossing her legs. "How long have you been having these issues for?"

"On and off… for roughly 18 months."

Meade's pen scrawled along her legal pad again, "You didn't seek help from an army psychiatrist? Why is that?"

Finnick recalled the sleepless nights in the hospital days after he was admitted followed by an even longer stretch of medication and constant supervision in the army clinic. "It was easier to pretend to be normal again," he sighed, "If I could trick my doctor's into giving me the all clear I could return to duty, I didn't realize they would show me the door." He could hear the bitterness in his voice as he spoke.

They both sat in silence for a few passing moments. The sound of a pen scratching against paper was the only sound that filled the room. The longer the silence continued, the more unsure Finnick began to feel. This fear was only exacerbated by the seemingly endless scrawling of the doctor's right hand, almost as if in the past few minutes he had already proven how damaged he was and now all the doctor could do was try her best to keep up.

"I need this to work," he said finally as he sat forward in the seat and cleared his throat.

Meade looked up at him and pursed her lips, "Finnick, you and I will get through this together, but working through this kind of PTSD will be time consuming. There is no quick fix."

The words echoed in his ears. No quick fix. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. He'd been terrified of the scenario that required him to constantly revisit old demons and confront them.

"I'll do whatever it takes," he said after a pause, "But I need to see results quickly because it's getting worse and I can't make it stop."

She looked at him quizzically, "What are you worried you're going to lose? What are you scared failure will cost you?"

Finnick swallowed the big lump in his throat. "I'm scared that I will lose the only person I care about. I'm scared they will see me with my guard down and realize how bad it really gets. I can't let that happen."

She nodded, "Okay. Let's begin."

* * *

Finnick awoke in the early hours of the morning. He smiled instantly as he noticed the blonde head that lay on his bare chest, breathing softly with a long arm wrapped around his torso. Peeta looked beautiful that morning with beams of sun shining down on his soft skin.

He chuckled to himself. Peeta had come over at some point during the night when he was already asleep.

He wrapped an arm around the warm body that held him tightly. He could feel Peeta's peaceful heartbeat, the heat of his breath on his skin, his messy hair tickling his skin, everything seemed to be in place. Finnick chuckled to himself and kissed the top of his head. The shift in his position caused the younger man to stir and awaken from his sleep.

"You couldn't stand one night without me, could you?" Finnick asked, feeling victorious and ecstatic at the same time.

Peeta chuckled and sat up, "Remember when you asked me to move in with you?"

Finnick grinned widely and sat up, "Yeah?" He leaned in close to Peeta's lips.

"I want to take you up on your offer," he said with a grin, "If you'll still have me."

He kissed Peeta on the cheek as he smiled, knowing it would make him blush and cringe but finding him irresistible nonetheless. Finnick could only hope that making a first step to getting better was the cause of the incredible gesture from the man he loved so much. There were things he wanted to change, and things he wanted to get better, but in that moment, Finnick had never felt happier.

"Can I ask you a question?" Peeta asked as he lay back down and stared up at Finnick.

"Sure," he replied with a chipper smile, pulling some of the blanket off Peeta to cover himself with.

Peeta paused for a moment, unsure as to what level of prying would be tolerated. He reminded himself that Finnick was his and if they were to be sharing a life together, he had the right to answers he had questions to.

"Why do you have a gun?"

In that instant, Finnick tried his best to construct his answer with a more reasonable one that sounded more rational than the blunt truth. But Peeta looked at him expecting an answer.

"The same reason anyone does. Self-defence." Finnick wondered how long he would be subjected to what would likely turn into an interrogation.

Peeta sat up without losing the look of curiosity, "Is this some sort of residual soldier issue?" he asked, trying his best not to sound insensitive to what he hoped was not a deeper issue that required further therapy.

The man he loved had finally sought help in ridding the demons that haunted him. Peeta didn't know if he could tolerate the issues developing further.

"It's not a big deal, Peeta," Finnick said in an assuring tone. "Just leave it where it is and never touch it."

The older man rose from the bed and over to the dresser drawer where the gun itself remained concealed. He pushed the drawer that had been left open, closed.

Finnick turned to face the blonde man in his bed. "I mean it. It's not a toy. It's to keep us safe." His demeanor was serious. He wasn't being coy or adorable, he meant it.

"Okay," Peeta replied.

"Okay."

Finnick returned to the bed, sitting on the edge. Peeta moved in from behind and wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck causing Finnick to chuckle.

"Thanks for moving in with me," he said.

Peeta smiled and kissed the nape of his neck. "No problem."

* * *

Peeta pulled the door shut as he left Abernathy Bakery. He locked the door and rattled the handle to confirm it was secure. His first day back at work had left him feeling tired and deprived of any energy. It was just shy of 7pm and he was already ready to call it a night.

He walked to his car, dragging his feet which ached from standing on them all day. After spending the better part of the season in a cast, his body found itself screaming in pain from the exertion and labour it had to endure after an 8 hour shift spent standing in a hot kitchen, preparing food and an arduous cleaning schedule that came whenever Peeta was required to close the store.

He didn't care anymore. He unlocked his car and started it up, relieved that it still did. He had made it through his first day back at work. Despite the exhaustion, he smiled to himself as he remembered how happy he was to be back. Perhaps he would treat himself to a few cold beers in bed with Finnick.

Peeta's smile grew wider at the thought.

He pulled up to a sight he hadn't visited in quite a while, the bar where he and Finnick first met. Peeta had spent so much time associating the bar with memories of a time when he didn't feel loved, didn't feel deserved.

Peeta pushed the door open to The Hob and noticed that it was as dead as ever. Maybe two or three customers in the whole entire bar. He wondered why the manager would even keep the place open for the few drunks who slouched in their chairs by themselves, picking at the complimentary peanuts that sat in front of them on the tables while drowning their sorrows in a $4 beer.

He remembered a time when he was one of those miserable souls before shaking the memories out of his head. He was able to do what none of the others could, he was able to dig himself out of the pit of despair he was stuck in for so long.

He nervously approached the bar and instantly made eye contact with the bartender who stood behind it polishing glasses. Peeta began to fret as he didn't recognise the familiar face of the bartender who always served him without asking him for ID.

Peeta coughed nervously as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Can I get a couple beers?" he asked, "To go."

The man was in his mid to late thirties. He was much larger than Peeta in the sense that his stature was taller, his muscles large and prominent, as was the scowl across his face.

"Got some ID?" The man asked in an almost offended tone. It was almost as if he took issue with the young man trying to break the law at the cost of his own job should he be caught serving alcohol to someone who was clearly a minor.

The way he spoke sounded almost threatening. Peeta immediately felt his heart race as a surge of fear ran through him. He took a step back from the bar and shook his head, the whole time unable to stop looking the man dead in the eyes.

"Then fuck off," he grumbled as he turned his back on Peeta and his attention turned toward a baseball game that played on the TV adjacent to the bar in a low volume.

Before his mind could even process what had just happened, Peeta found himself pushing through the door and back out onto the street where he and Finnick had almost kissed the first night of meeting each other. That memory was now almost tainted by the harsh words and surprising turn of events that he'd experienced in what were a few very fast passing moments leaving him a little scared and embarrassed.

As he disappointingly and angrily kicked an empty beer can, Peeta noticed something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

The car he noticed parked two spaces away from his own was familiar. As he approached it, his eyes immediately trailed up the wheels and onto the dent that someone had attempted to bump out. He could tell this because he knew he would have left a bigger indent in the car after having been struck by it. The windshield had been replaced after he had smashed it as he body collided with it.

He felt his blood boil and his fists clench as he turned back into the bar and approached the bartender once again. He looked around the room. Unless there were more patrons in one of the back booths, the man who had left him to die in the street eight weeks earlier was in his immediate presence.

"Hey!" Peeta snapped, trying to get the bartender's attention.

The gruff, angry looking man wrinkled his brow and turned his attention back to the short blonde man.

"What?" he snarled, his patience already long gone.

Peeta ignored the man's tone and unpleasant demeanor. He could feel the wind knocked out of him as he opened his mouth. "Who owns the red Sedan out front?" he asked. His hands shook.

"I do," the man replied with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell do you care?"

Just like that, Peeta felt the growing anger and turmoil leave his head and instead opted to simply reply, "You're double parked."

The man let out a sarcastic laughed grunt and leaned over the counter, "Unless you want your ass tossed onto the street by me, I'd scram if I were you, kid."

Peeta glowered at the man before noticing the name tag on his shirt. He chuckled to himself. "See you around… Brutus."

They locked eyes for a brief moment longer before Peeta turned and pushed his way through the door and stormed over to his car. He started up his engine and tore onto the street. His mind immediately turned to memories of bleeding on the cold street as Finnick held him and kept him safe. He wondered, like he always did about what would have happened to him had Finnick not been there.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as his mind trailed back to bartender Joe, the man who had hurt him and Finnick's loaded gun.


	20. Bloody Hands

**Author's Note: Hi guys. Here is part 2, I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is _not _the last chapter, so I hope you don't tune out. I look forward to reading your comments.  
**

* * *

Peeta unlocked the door to what he supposed was now partly his apartment and slammed it shut behind him.

His hands continued to tremble despite his attempts and calming them by clenching his fists. Adrenaline coursed through his veins while the rage of discovering the man who left him for dead began to boil to the surface.

Finnick sat on the couch, his legs extended up to rest on the coffee table. He stared at Peeta in confusion. Why was he upset? What had happened to him?

"What happened?" Finnick asked, putting his legs down and sitting up.

Peeta didn't even realize Finnick was sitting there until he opened his mouth. He knew he wasn't thinking straight, that he should stop and assess the situation, but that was not how fits of rage worked. There was no logic, no reasoning. There was only anger fueling his every decision and action. Peeta knew there was nothing that could stop him from doing what he was planning.

"What's wrong, Peeta?" Finnick asked again, his voice more stern this time. An answer was required immediately.

Peeta was silent as he faced Finnick. He was completely unaware as to what his next course of action should be. He didn't know if he had it in him to tell Finnick that he planned to hurt the man who had caused him serious harm. He knew Finnick would never understand the concept of revenge this way. He didn't want to unleash his dark side onto the man, especially now that he was getting past his own.

Ultimately he decided to lie. Not only because he knew Finnick would try to stop him, but because he knew he would. Whether it was emotionally or physically, Finnick would stop Peeta from walking back through the door with a loaded gun in his hand.

"I had a crappy day at work," Peeta lied with a glance at the floor and a hand through his blonde hair.

The look of concern on Finnick's face softened but didn't completely falter. "Come here," he instructed.

Peeta smiled at the man who smiled warmly up at him. He promised himself no matter what would happen that Finnick was to never be hurt in the process. He closed the gap between them in a few steps. Finnick craned his neck and placed a soft kiss on Peeta's lips. "British comedy marathon?" he asked with a smile as he patted the cushion next to him invitingly.

The younger man smiled convincingly, hiding behind the façade of a happy and contented young man. "I'm gonna shower first."

Finnick smiled at him. "Okay."

The second Peeta closed the door, he moved for the dresser. Pulling it open and pushing the various items inside out of the way, he retrieved the gun and placed it in the back of his jeans. He pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor before he moved for the wardrobe and pulled out a black hoodie.

He eyed the window. The fire escape would provide him with an exit that wouldn't come full of questions from the man who guarded the main exit to the apartment. There would be plenty of time to answer Finnick's questions later, but not now.

Peeta pulled the window open and climbed through. He took a deep breath as he began to descend the clangy metallic frame as his thoughts turned to vengeance.

* * *

Finding the crumpled old packet with 2 cigarettes in the glove compartment was truly a blessing, Peeta thought as he sat behind the wheel of his car where he had been sitting for the past hour, watching door to the bar. His heart began beating faster in anxiety and disappointment when the door would open and a drunk patron would exit. The gun was held tightly in his left hand while a cigarette dangled from the fingers on his right. His phone sat in the passenger's seat, turned off to avoid any calls from Finnick which he assumed there would be many of.

His mind turned to Noah and how much he had disappointed him in the past. Though it wasn't enough to make him stop, he did regret the turmoil he would no doubt be putting his brother through should he be caught or apprehended by the authorities. He knew he had to be careful for that very reason, to protect the people he loved from himself.

If anyone had to understand his pain it would have to be Finnick. Finnick was a soldier, he had killed before, had almost been killed himself. Only they could understand the pain of feeling their lives slip away. Finnick _had_ to understand that.

It was at that moment that Peeta heard the sound of footsteps approaching. As his head quickly turned, Peeta had just enough time to securely hide the gun in the back of his pants. The passenger's side door opened and Finnick climbed into the car, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Where's my gun?" Finnick asked angrily, cutting right to the chase.

Peeta stared at him in complete disbelief. The cigarette dropped from his fingers as he gaped. "How did you find me?"

"When I noticed you missing and the drawer open I figured you'd been drinking," Finnick replied with an anger laced tone. "What are you going to do, Peeta?"

There was something in his voice that made Peeta hesitate to answer. He still had no idea whether or not he simply wanted to scare the man, injure him or take his life away. In his head, Peeta could make as many rational justifications as he wanted, it didn't necessarily mean they were the least bit just or logical in reality.

He could lie to himself, but he knew Finnick wouldn't accept those lies as easily.

"Get even," he muttered, looking away from Finnick and back at the door.

Confused and slightly terrified Finnick stared at his young partner. "Even? Against who?"

"The fucker that ran me over," he muttered angrily, "You see that red car over there?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

The older man found himself as angry as the other man did. He did recognize that car. He let his anger get the better of him only for a few moments, before his logic and responsibility got the better of him.

Finnick shook his head, "You're not doing this. Do you really think I'm going to let you get out of this car when that door opens?"

Peeta looked at him, "You can try and stop me, Finnick, but it will happen, even if it's not tonight."

"For fuck sake," he muttered, "How do you know I won't just call the cops?"

The younger man scoffed, "You'd rather see me get arrested than him?"

"No," Finnick grumbled, "I'd rather see _him_ get arrested which is why _we're_ going to call the cops."

Peeta shook his head, "No," he said defiantly as he stared right into Finnick's green eyes. "I'm doing this. You can't stop me."

The older man saw the determination is the eyes of the younger man he loved with all his heart. He felt the urge to restrain the man, he would not allow Peeta to do this, to throw his entire life away because he couldn't get a handle on his anger. Finnick was an expert regarding the matter. He understood the anger and the dark place it came from, it didn't mean he was going to simply sit by and let it ruin Peeta.

"Give me the gun, Peeta." He spoke low but firmly with anger in his voice that Peeta rarely heard. "You won't like what happens if you don't."

Peeta frowned as his face burned red in despair, "What? You'll hurt me?"

"Not only that," he said sternly, "But you'll never see me again."

This finally made Peeta's heart stop in his chest. He let out a choked whimper as once again, the possibility dawned on him. He turned to Finnick, "I need to get past this, this is the only way I know how. Nothing will happen to me. No one needs to know. No one will find out."

Finnick frowned, "That's not what I'm talking about. If you step foot outside of this car we're over." He sighed heavily and preyed Peeta would not challenge his threat, "Do you really think I want to be with someone who is so reckless with his life?"

He felt his eyes fill with tears, stinging them as they filled and spilled from his eyes in a rush of misery. "I knew it," he muttered, "I knew you wouldn't support me."

Finnick blew off the comment. "Of course I'm not going to support this! Give me the fucking gun!" he yelled as he reached over and grabbed Peeta by the collar of his shirt. "I'm serious!"

"Get off me!" Peeta yelled, shoving Finnick hard in the chest before pushing the car door open and slamming it shut behind him. "Stay the hell away from me!"

"Peeta!" Finnick screamed as he too evacuated the vehicle in hot pursuit. He stormed over to the smaller man, barreling down on him with every step and noticing the gun stick out of the back of his jeans. He stood tall over the man. "I'm not asking you nicely, I'm not even trying to reason with you anymore. Give me the gun before I take it from you!"

Betrayal filled every part of him, only causing his anger to rise. Peeta felt his tears pour from his eyes as he held his stomach and bent forward, feeling as if he were going to be sick. He knew this wasn't the case though.

"You're an asshole! You're _supposed_ to want to help me! You're supposed to want revenge for what he did to me! Or have you forgotten laying in the street with me after that cunt ran me over?!"

Finnick curled his lip in disgust, "I've heard enough of this shit!" he said as he lunged forward and ripped the gun from Peeta in one swift move. "Get in the fucking car! I'm taking you home!"

"FUCK!" Peeta screamed, lunging forward to shove Finnick in the chest with all his strength. "You're an asshole!" His breathing was ragged as was his movements. His fists clenched and he contemplated hitting Finnick before deciding against it.

"I don't give a shit," Finnick said, taking measured breaths. "I don't care if you hate me right now. I love you enough to let you, to put up with this kind of shit. Tomorrow when you wake up you'll thank me for intervening and stopping you from making a terrible mistake."

Peeta stared at him angrily as he continued to cry. "No I won't! All you've done is get in my fucking way! Damnit Finnick!"

Finnick gaped, staring at the younger man incredulously, "I promised you I'd do whatever it took to keep you safe, you little asshole! That includes standing back and watching you get arrested!"

"I'm not going to get arrested!" Peeta snarled, lunging forward and reaching for the gun, only to give up and realize his plans for revenge were not going to come to fruition. "I need to get even! He doesn't know who I am, there's no way to link anything I do here tonight back to me!"

Finnick closed in on him, grabbing him roughly by the arm. "I've had enough of this. We're going. Now."

Again, Peeta ripped himself out of Finnick's strong hold. He pointed an accusing finger at him, "You said there wasn't anything you wouldn't do for me!"

It was at that moment that both men froze. Silence fell on both of them, only pierced by sound of a large door opening. The man that Peeta was so hell bent on getting revenge on exited the building, a cigarette behind his ear, another one dangling from his lips.

Without a second thought, Finnick took Peeta by the arm and pushed him behind the dumpster, out of view from the man. As Peeta opened his mouth to continue yelling, Finnick covered it with his hand. Peeta fought, which was to be expected, but Finnick was stronger and able to hold him in place.

He stared into the younger man's deep blue eyes, the ones that pleaded to him to release the hold. Finnick remembered staring into those eyes the night Peeta laid bleeding and broken in the snow on the street. He remembered the terror in the pit of his stomach at the very idea that he may have never gotten another chance to stare into those incredible blue eyes of the man he didn't get a chance to properly love. Finnick understood Peeta's pain, but for the first time that night, he felt it too.

"I love you, Peeta," Finnick said quietly, only loud enough for him to hear as he released his hand from covering his mouth. "There _isn't_ anything I wouldn't do for you," he said as he clutched the gun in his hand.

For the first time that night, Peeta found himself speechless. "W-What are you going to do?"

Finnick frowned, "Whatever it takes to make you feel better. There's already blood on my hands," he said softly as he placed the gun in the back of his pants, "I'll be damned if I'm going to let you get it all over your hands too, Peeta. So run."

"What?" He could feel his world spinning as everything started to get faster. His heart beat hard, he could feel it in his chest like it was going to burst out.

"Just fucking run," Finnick ordered.

Without another word, Finnick stepped out from behind the dumpster, walking fast toward the man whose back was turned to Finnick and the wind as he lit a cigarette.

"HEY!" Finnick yelled as he moved in on the man, the gun carefully placed in the back of his pants, hidden by a jacket.

The man turned around. Although surprised, there was an indifferent quality about him that Peeta immediately detested. He eyed Finnick as the man approached, even going as far as to take a step toward him, almost as if he could anticipate what was about to happen.

"There a problem?" The man asked with zero intimidation in his voice.

"Yeah there is," Finnick muttered as he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt with his left hand to hold him in place as his right hand formed a fist and struck him in one hard blow.

The man who went by the name of Brutus managed to free himself from Finnick's grasp long enough to stumble back a few steps before Finnick moved in on him again and delivered another equally affective blow, crushing his nose with his fist.

As he listened to Finnick's loud grunts with each assault, and the other man's grunts of pain, Peeta felt a great deal of shame bloom inside of him from behind the dumpster as he watched it all go down. He hadn't wanted it to go down that way, with Finnick endangering himself. He had wanted to keep him in the dark, do what he needed to do before returning to lie in the man's arms and never speak another word about it.

He watched on feeling terrified and exhilarated at the same time. Shame and excitement were emotions fighting in his heart and Peeta couldn't decide which he wanted to feel as he watched Finnick stand over the now injured man, waiting for him to rise so he could continue his assault.

The man spluttered and groaned.

"I know you ran someone over," Finnick snarled before delivering a swift kick to the man's side causing him to emit a loud, pained scream.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed as he agonized in pain.

Finnick glowered, "For what?!" Another strike to the ribs followed by a pained scream.

The man coughed loudly and groaned as he clutched his stomach, "For running over that blonde kid… the one w-who came into the bar tonight."

Finnick threw his head back as right and wrong fought in his head to come to a decision. He crouched down over the man, lifting his upper body with the collar of his shirt before roughly smashing his head into the rough graveled ground.

He straightened himself up and pulled the gun from the back of his pants, pointing it down at the man.

"You almost killed him," Finnick muttered, "You left him there to die. You're a piece of shit." He took a moment to decide what he wanted to do, like Peeta, he was still undecided as to whether or not he would follow this through to the end. It was at the moment of the decision that he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go," Peeta said, taking Finnick's free hand into his own and glaring down at the man who held his sides with his face down on the cement.

Finnick stared at Peeta, "Wait for me over there," he whispered, indicating the dumpster, "I don't want you involved in this."

Peeta shook his head, "It's too late," he replied.

The injured man on the ground looked up at Peeta.

"He's seen me here, I'm already involved," he mumbled as he grabbed Finnick's arm. "Let's just go home."

Finnick nodded and crouched down over the man again who instinctively shielded himself with his hands. His hand dove inside the man's pants and retrieved his wallet and removed his drivers license.

"This is some insurance," Finnick muttered, "If I see the cops at my door, I'll be sending them right back over to you, or I might finish you off myself now that I know where you live. You got that?"

The man nodded.

"Good."

Finnick took Peeta by the arm as they turned their backs on him and climbed back into the car.

* * *

They marched up the stairs in silence without a word. The whole time Peeta could feel Finnick's eyes on the back of his neck.

The silence that filled the apartment was palpable as Finnick unlocked the door and waited for Peeta to enter, before closing it behind him and locking it.

Instead of grasping for something to say, Peeta simply shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the couch, saying nothing as he retreated to the bedroom, hoping Finnick wouldn't sleep on the couch, or worse, sleep somewhere else.

Peeta was almost certain that he had already destroyed what he had worked so hard for, invested so much time into, so much of his heart. He couldn't blame Finnick if leaving was what he chose to do. He couldn't expect anyone to take his side anymore. He didn't have a side.

He folded his hands in his lap and sat on the edge of the bed, already trying his best to form the words of an apology in his head, finding himself completely unable to come up with anything that even remotely begun to cover the irreparable damage he had caused that night.

It wasn't too long before Peeta heard Finnick's footsteps approach.

He looked up at the man who stood in the doorway with one hand firmly pressing the cold compress onto his damaged and bloodied hand.

"What can I say?" Peeta asked, eying Finnick's bruised hand. "Tell me what to say and I'll say it."

Finnick looked at him, his green eyes piercing, "What do you want me to tell you?" he asked, "You were ready to throw everything away tonight, and for what? To feel like a big man with a gun?"

The words hurt. They stung mainly because they were true.

"It was your gun," Peeta mumbled.

"Which I trusted you _not _to touch!" Finnick said loudly, "Then again, I never thought you'd try killing a man either. How could you do that?! You're fucking insane!"

Peeta was stunned. The events of the night had left him reeling in a state of disbelief. Now he was trying desperately hard to just hold on and stop the spinning in his head.

"What do I say to this, Finnick?" Peeta asked in legitimate confusion, "Am I supposed to apologize or thank you? Am I supposed to be afraid of you or admire you?"

The older man sighed heavily and impatiently, "I'm not to be thanked Peeta. I hurt him not only because he hurt you, but because I wanted to take that choice away from you." He looked away from Peeta as he entered the room and moved for the other side of the bed. "If you did something bad tonight, I'm not sure I could look at you the same way again. That's something I couldn't have let you do to me."

Peeta held his breath. "I was wrong. Everything I did tonight was wrong. You pulled me out of it. What can I do to stop you?" he pleaded.

Finnick turned to look at him, "Stop me? From what?"

"From kicking me out," Peeta mumbled.

Finnick's eyes stayed on the nape of the younger man's neck. "If I wanted to break things off, I wouldn't have started by beating the shit out of that fucker tonight."

The younger man felt a flood of relief wash over him as a smirk crept along his face. Despite how reprehensible his own actions had been that night, despite how bad Finnick's were, he couldn't help but feel happy that the man had been there to stop him, and there to fight for him.

"I'm so sorry, Finnick," Peeta said with a sigh, reaching behind him to take a hold of Finnick's hand. "He deserved it, he did. But I'm still sorry."

Finnick's anger began to wane as he felt Peeta's warm hand gently caress his bruised one. "This is why I'm in therapy, Peeta. Because I have something inside of me that makes me react in anger."

Peeta rose from the other side of the bed and crossed to Finnick's.

"That makes two of us," he said as he sat down next to Finnick, deliberately brushing his shoulder against his. "It's different. He could have killed me. You gave him a fat lip, a couple of bruises and a couple of cracked ribs if we're lucky. _He_ won't be spending the night in intensive care, or the next week in a hospital bed, or the next month in physical therapy."

Finnick stared at Peeta with intensity, "Would you have killed him?"

Peeta didn't need time to pause, to think about his answer. He knew how he felt when he heard that back door open and saw the man before his eyes. The idea of revenge seemed so much simpler than following through with it.

"No. I would have taken the gun and made him think I would, let him know how it feels to think it's all over." He rested his hands in his lap, as his eyes caught Finnick's, "Would you have?"

Finnick shook his head, "No," he replied, "I wanted him hurt, not dead. I can't relive what I went through in the field. I didn't have to think about it twice."

Peeta chuckled, "Well, at least we're not killers."

The older man nodded solemnly, even as the small smirk on his face betrayed his demeanor. "We're not the best people, but we're not the worst."

"We can kind of justify our actions," Peeta offered before sighing and shaking his head.

Finnick pressed the compress down on his hand with more force causing him to grumble in pain as subtly as he could manage.

"Does it hurt a lot?" The younger man asked with concern in his voice.

"You should see the other guy," Finnick said with a sly smile.

Peeta smiled, leaning in and kissing the man softly but fall of passion, cupping his jaw as their lips parted and tongues roamed freely, sighing before breaking and pressing his forehead against Finnick's. "I love you."

"I love you too."


	21. Special Two

**Author's Note: I can't beleive that this is the last time I get to write one of these (for this story anyway) **

**First off, allow me to apologize for the delay. Given that this is the final chapter, it was pretty lame of me. I should have had this up 10 days ago but this chapter was not easy to write. I had to find a way to finish my story that was respectful to the character's I wrote about (I'm very aware that I did not create them lol) and the arcs they were involved in. This was my fifth draft. It's never taken me so long to complete one chapter before with this many re-writes. I really hope you do like it. You'll find it break into two sections (I also had some trouble getting the tense right)  
**

**I felt this ending was ultimately right to go with and fair to the characters too. I should also mention this chapter contains a lot of smut and teeth rotting fluff... a LOT of it.**

* * *

Finnick nervously drummed his fingers along the cover of the book he held in his hands. For the third time in an interval of what had only been a few minutes, he lowered the book from his eye line and peered at the clock.

He sighed heavily as he obstructed his vision of the object he could not keep his attention from diverting from. Despite his best attempts, Finnick could not distract himself with the book he was currently reading. He read the words in his head but they refused to sink in.

He peered at the clock again.

7:00pm.

Peeta should have arrived home half an hour ago.

The feeling in the pit of Finnick's stomach was something worse than worry. As the minutes continued to pass and time continued to lapse, Finnick's worry began turning to fear. Fear for Peeta's safety.

It wasn't a new fear, but it certainly had manifested in the past few weeks, beginning the night Finnick held his gun to another man's face and contemplated pulling the trigger, taking another man's life in a spray of red blood, all for the sake of protecting and proving his love for the only person he ever truly cared for.

Was he laying in the streets with blood gushing from his head like the last time? Had he picked a fight with someone that didn't work in his favor? Endless scenarios circled through Finnick's head. He knew they were irrational and that the younger man was fine, no, better than fine, which was why he resisted the urge to call and check up on him, even though it was killing him.

"Danmit," he mumbled as he rose to his feet and dropped his book on the coffee table.

He had already started scrolling for Peeta's name in his contacts list when he heard the key turn in the lock. He placed his phone back down on the table as the door opened and a chipper looking Peeta strolled through the door with a smile on his face.

"Hey," he said as he walked in, kicking the door closed behind him, "How was work?"

Finnick couldn't believe how relieved he was to see Peeta's smile. No matter how irrational his fear was, or how exaggerated his actions seemed, Finnick pulled the shirt from around his neck as he stormed over to where the younger man stood at the door. He grabbed Peeta by the shirt roughly as he pulled him in for a kiss.

He felt the smaller man's body tremble at his touch, finding Peeta's hands immediately feeling every spot of his chest, caressing his skin with his smooth hands. Finnick's tongue sparred with Peeta's as he gently bit the man's lower lip possessively.

Peeta broke the kiss and quickly began removing his shirt as Finnick's hands expertly removed his belt, and unbuttoned his jeans as they both pushed eachother through the living room and down the hallway to their bedroom.

Finnick pushed him onto the bed as he stood above the smaller man and properly removed him from the confines of his pants. He hovered over the man for a moment before gripping the elastic waistband of his underwear and pulling them down to his knees. He listened as Peeta sighed in ecstasy before he gripped the man's dick tightly in his right hand. His red lips wrapped around the head of the engorged cock while his tongue licked around the head of his dick, his teeth nipped at the underside of the cock and the foreskin found at the top of the shaft.

There was only one thing Finnick enjoyed more than Peeta's groans of pleasure, and that was the way he tasted, still so sweet. He gripped the man's dick tightly in his hand and began stroking him furiously while keeping him in his mouth, still craving the bittersweet taste of Peeta's pre-come in his mouth. As he looked up at the writhing naked man who mumbled his name, he felt so in love with him.

"I'm gonna come, Finnick," Peeta moaned as Finnick's hands still worked him.

Finnick realized how achingly hard he was, he quickly used his free hand to delve into his own pants and free his heavy dick that sprung to life the moment he slid his pants down.

He continued sucking Peeta into his mouth as his own hands pleasured both of them. He took Peeta as deeply into his throat as he could when the man began to climax. He could feel Peeta shiver as he came, releasing himself into his mouth, eagerly taken by him.

Finnick smiled, letting Peeta slip from his mouth after a minute. He kissed a trail up from the blonde patch of hair that surrounded his groin to his navel before finding his lips and kissing him deeply.

Peeta rolled on top of him, arching his back and straddling his waist as he held the man down and began grinding his ass against the hard dick that pressed against him. He reached behind and pressed the head of Finnick's dick against his entrance as he slowly sank down and sheathed himself on the hardened flesh.

Finnick flashed a toothy grin as Peeta impaled himself on his dick. He watched him brace himself and fuck himself on his dick. There was no bigger turn on than that, Finnick thought as he caught a glimpse of Peeta's semi-hard dick bouncing up and down as the man buried himself. He grit his teeth together.

"Enjoying yourself?" he panted with a grin.

"Yeah," Peeta grunted in reply as he continued bobbing up and down with pleasured and pained expressions on his face. "Harder…"

"Harder?"

"Harder."

His hands forcefully took Peeta by the shoulders and pulled him onto the bed, pushing him onto his back and kissing him fervidly, his tongue delving down Peeta's throat for good measure in a show of passion and possession.

"What are you gonna do, Finnick?" Peeta asked in a taunting voice as his hand travelled down and wrapped around himself.

Finnick bit his own lip and watched for a moment as the man he loved lay spread before him, masturbating slowly while looking deep into his eyes before he began surveying his naked body appreciatively. He leaned in and kissed Peeta's ear, "Tell me what I want to hear," he whispered as he took Peeta's ankle in his left hand and settled his weight in on the smaller body.

"Fuck me," Peeta said softly before arching his neck and releasing a loud moan as Finnick spread his legs apart before letting them rest on his shoulders. He breathed deeply as Finnick entered him, slamming hard and rough without hesitation. "I love you."

"Say that again," he ordered as he continued fucking him, keeping at the same rhythm.

"I love you, Finnick," Peeta panted desperately.

It soon became too much for him. The pleasure building up inside of him peaked as Peeta continued to clench around him, his pleads for more and pants of ecstasy only added to the overall pleasure he was receiving, causing him to hold Peeta tightly as he came inside of him.

"I love you too," Finnick mumbled as he collapsed on top of the younger man and kissed his sweaty stomach.

They remained pressed together that way for a few minutes more before Finnick rolled onto his back and Peeta wrapped his leg over Finnick's hip, moving in to lay on his stomach the way he normally did after sex.

"Guess what happened to me today?" Peeta said in a slightly cheerful tone, recalling a particularly funny incident that happened at work.

"What happened?" Finnick asked with fear in his voice, "Is everything okay?"

Peeta sat up and looked at him questioningly, "Why wouldn't it be?"

The older man didn't respond, instead he simply shrugged and rolled onto his side. "You had me worried tonight when you didn't come home straight away."

"Are you mad at me?" Peeta asked, "Are you still upset about what happened?"

"No," he replied, "I just don't know if I trust you to keep out of danger-"

"-Finnick"

"Promise me that you won't ever pull that shit again," he said turned over and sat up, "Promise me that you won't let your anger take over like that, that you won't make me go through that again. I can't stand feeling that way-"

"-What way?"

"That I might lose you" Finnick muttered, "I felt that way last week and I felt that way tonight. I hate the way it feels."

"You won't lose me," he mumbled as he kissed Finnick, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him to lay on top of his smaller frame as he felt the taller man tremble in his hands.

"Okay," Finnick mumbled into the crook of his neck.

It was at that moment when Peeta looked into Finnick's green eyes that he saw real fear in the man's eyes. He had never seen that look before. Finnick had always been the one that he had relied on to assure him that things between them would be okay, that nothing would ever happen to them. He had never been required to reassure Finnick before.

His actions had caused real damage while provoking genuine fear and uncertainty. He bumped Finnick's chin up with his hand as he leaned in and placed a hand on his cheek.

"Remember when I couldn't even get you to let me stay over?" Peeta asked as he rested his forehead against Finnick's, "Who knew _you'd_ turn into such a damn sap."

Finnick smiled against his skin, "I never turned you down when you showed up at my door… or climbed through my window in the middle of the night."

"Because I'm so irresistible, right?"

"Because you were a persistent fucker."

"I had to make you work for it," Peeta chuckled, "If you weren't so perfect it wouldn't have been so easy for me to fall in love with you. You should've made it harder."

"I've still got a long road to go before I get anywhere near perfect, Peeta," Finnick sighed with a small smile, his thoughts already shifted from the conversation they were just having.

"You are perfect," he said as he placed his hand on Finnick's bare chest and traced his fingers down his stomach, "I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you."

Finnick smiled, "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a way with words?"

Peeta smiled, "You won't ever lose me, okay?"

"Okay," he replied.

They both knew that things wouldn't always be perfect. Nothing ever was, to expect some sort of perfect existence in which nothing would ever go wrong was illogical and unrealistic. But just because things wouldn't necessarily always stay perfect, it didn't mean that things would never be perfect again. Peeta knew that as long as he had Finnick in his life, providing him with all the love he would ever need, they could work out the rest later.

It didn't matter when things would eventually take a turn for the worst. Finnick had Peeta to give him love and the perfect thing to whisper in his ear when in doubt. In return Finnick gave Peeta the care and protection he deserved above all else. With that they both fell confident that no matter what direction their relationship would go, they would find a way to steer it back on course. What they had was too real, too special to poorly maintain.

Peeta knew he'd always stay happy, always be centered and balanced with Finnick, no matter how much time would move them on.

* * *

Peeta still smells good after he walks in the door after a long day at work. No amount of physical labour could make him smell bad after working in a bakery all day. His culinary skills never cease to amaze Finnick when he cooks for them almost every night.

Finnick still can't cook. He likes the notion that he will never have to. He smiles into Peeta's blonde locks and inhales deeply into the warm head of hair that rests on his chest as they both read from the same page of the same book. Peeta usually falls asleep in Finnick's arms first.

It's been a quite a while since Finnick began his therapy. He still makes the occasional visit once a month or so. The nightmares stopped, but occasionally one will come along. When they come, Finnick will wonder aloud if they will ever stop. That's when Peeta will smile and wrap an arm around the taller man's neck, "Of course they will," he whispers as he presses his lips into the shell of his ear. As Peeta falls back asleep, Finnick simply closes his eyes and clings to the smaller man as his anxiety subsides. He will then wonder how he would get through nights like these without Peeta? Fortunately, he will fall asleep before ever having to answer the question.

Peeta can still make him laugh to the point where the milk from his cereal is dribbling down his chin. Finnick can still make Peeta swoon over him even after all this time. It doesn't take much to have the younger man in a state of ecstasy, not for Finnick anyway. A simple hand on his lower back when they're out in a crowd that still makes Peeta feel special, because in a room full of people, he knows Finnick only sees him.

Despite the rocky start, Finnick and Noah have become good friends. They laugh, drink beer and go to every Eagles game. It makes Peeta happy, not only because his brother and the man he loves are now a part of each other's lives in their own way and not purely because of himself as a proxy, but because he will spend those nights cooking with Annie who he supposes will be his sister-in-law soon if Noah can finally summon up the courage to pop the question. It makes him happy to see how she will gush about his brother. He has to bite his tongue when she talks about her dream wedding and wonders aloud when it will happen. Peeta is happy they're happy.

"Noah bought a ring," Finnick mentions over coffee one morning.

Peeta isn't surprised. He'd known this had been in the pipeline for a while. His eyebrows still raise though.

"How do you know?" Peeta asks from the other side of the table.

Finnick's eyes look up from the newspaper that rests next to his coffee and half eaten bagel. "He needed help picking out the ring, he called me yesterday."

Puzzled, Peeta's eyebrows remain raised. "Why didn't he ask me?"

The older man smiles as his eyes return to the newspaper, "Did you really want to shop for an engagement ring with your brother?" he asks.

Peeta smirks, "Good point."

"Besides, I have taste," Finnick says with a grin. "When are we going to get you a ring?"

"Since when do you have taste?" the younger man asks, still smiling and deliberately avoiding what he interprets as a joke.

Finnick shrugs as he closes his newspaper and takes a sip of coffee. For a few moments he simply takes a long, hard look at the blonde haired man whose sarcastic smile begins to fade only to be replaced by the same, familiar questioning gaze.

"I think I have pretty good taste," Finnick says nonchalantly as he eyes the younger man up and down, "I've got _really _good taste."

He can feel his cheeks turn red in what can only be described as a feeling of excitement and anxiety. He smiles at Finnick from across the table who in turn smiles back at him. Suddenly it doesn't feel like Finnick is joking anymore.

"You're not serious, are you?" Peeta asks. He can hear his own heart beat and he's not sure if he's excited or terrified of what his answer will be.

The older man smirks and rises from the table. "I'm serious about you," he replies as he makes his way over to where Peeta sits on the opposite side, "Are you serious about me?"

Peeta grins widely, his green eyes remain fixed on the older man's lips as he accepts the kiss that's offered to him. "So are you going to ask me?" he questions as their lips part.

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"Nope," the older man reiterates as he reaches down and cups Peeta's cheek with his hand before turning and walking back to the kitchen.

Peeta stares after him, slightly dumbfounded.

"W-Well, why not?" he stammers in utter confusion.

The older man continues to smirk at him, unable to wipe the grin from his face. "Of course I'm going to marry you one day," he says to clarify, "But it's not going to be anytime soon."

Peeta rolls his eyes and chuckles, "I can't believe I've got you on the verge of getting on one knee."

"Oh? And why's that?"

Peeta rests his lower back against the kitchen counter. "You still surprise me."

"I'm full of surprises, baby," he jokes before leaning forward and kissing Peeta on the top of his head.

* * *

There's a secluded cabin up in the mountains that Finnick likes to rent out for a week a couple of times a year. The fresh air and ice cold breezes are exactly what Peeta needs, he thinks to himself over the course of the long drive.

Finnick turns off his phone and lays back in his seat while Peeta drives. Peeta knows he has his eyes shut beneath his sunglasses, so he makes little effort making conversation during the first hour of the drive, he doesn't want Finnick to feel bad for falling asleep, god knows he deserves to relax. Instead he listens to the radio at a low volume, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel, anxious to arrive.

The older man wakes after a short nap. Finnick smiles and gazes out the car window and tells Peeta a story from his childhood when his father would take him up to the cabin for the summer. It makes the younger man's heart feel fuller when he listens to Finnick talk about the happy moments of his childhood. Peeta knows if his parents were still alive they'd approve of Finnick, the man who helped him find himself and grow into a man they would have been proud of. He takes solace knowing that they are now each other's family, that he will fill the void for both of them, that's he's enough for him.

Finnick feeds him Oreo's as they drive. The closer they get to their destination, the more ecstatic Finnick gets. His energy becomes much more upbeat in a manner of hours while his attitude grows more jubilant.

As soon as their car pulls in, Finnick steps out and waits for Peeta to get out as well. He smiles and takes Peeta by the hand. The shorter man smiles as he gets dragged along to the river, discarding their clothes along the way.

The cold water feels amazing on his skin, as do Finnick's expert hands that know exactly what they're doing. He stares deep into Finnick's green eyes as they move deeper into the water. Peeta can't believe how long it's been since they had a chance to be here last, since they made love here.

"I missed being here," he says to Finnick before capturing his mouth in a possessive kiss before breaking it to release the guttural groan inside of him as Finnick enters him.

The older man holds him firmly by the hips as they rock together in the water. He smiles and keeps his forehead pressed against Peeta's. "So did I, Peeta."

* * *

It's a little after two in the morning when Finnick's eyes open. He immediately notices Peeta's absence from the bed. He sits up and squints at the dim light of the bedroom. The fireplace is still glowing, illuminating the room as the shadows of the flames dance on the walls. At the end of the room sits Peeta who sits in the armchair with his legs crossed, wearing only his underwear but still contrasting Finnick's naked form. Still delirious from sleep, the older man can't seem to figure out what Peeta is up to.

"What are you doing?" he asks with a yawn.

"Just a drawing," Peeta replies as he begins to scratch the black charcoal across the large page in the book that sits in his lap. "I forgot you bought these for me last time."

Finnick smiles and recalls Peeta's 23rd birthday the year before. "What are you drawing?" he asks.

Peeta turns his attention away from the work in progress and looks up at Finnick. "The most beautiful person in the world."

They both chuckle as Peeta begins drawing the bronze hair that fell into his face as he slept.

"I'm happy to see you drawing again," he says as he rises from the bed and makes his way over to the other side of the room.

Peeta immediately turns the portrait upside down, shielding it from Finnick's prying eyes.

"It's not ready yet."

"Please?" Finnick asks meekly as he feels his eyes grow heavier and pushes away the urge to return to sleep.

The younger man moves to the edge of the seat to allow Finnick to sit down. Once he has, he allows himself to melt into the strong man's warm embrace, smiling as one strong arm wraps around his neck, pulling him in even closer. He turns his drawing over and reveals the sleeping figure to the man he loves. Almost complete, only missing the finer details of the man's hair as well as several details of the wall and the bed.

"You're so fucking talented," Finnick whispers in his ear, "It's beautiful."

Peeta smiles and cranes his neck so they're eye level, "You're so full of yourself," he replies with a grin.

"And you're a little perv," Finnick replies with a repressed laugh, "Have you nothing better to do than draw naked men?"

Peeta chuckles before leaning in a kissing Finnick deeply, both his hands cupping Finnick's face, his fingertips grazing against the stubble while he gently bites on the man's quivering lower lip.

"Will you marry me?" Peeta asks when their lips finally part. He smiles widely as he waits for an answer.

"Of course I will." He returns Peeta's kiss with one of his own.

He watches Peeta draw for a little while longer. He can't wait to see Peeta wearing a silver band around his finger, indicating to him and the rest of the world that Peeta truly is his. Even if they don't need a ring to prove it, it's still nice to know. Finnick knows he's a lucky man.

They both fall asleep, Peeta in Finnick's arms.

* * *

The bell that hangs over the door rings. The sound replaces the silence in the bakery for a brief moment before it stops and the only sound to be heard is the low whirl of the ovens cleaning themselves. Peeta watches from his place behind the counter as his last customers, a young couple, probably around 16 or 17 walk past the large pane glass window of the street. He makes his way over to the door and turns the sign that reads CLOSED before locking the door.

Peeta looks around the bakery and removes his apron as he pulls up a chair and lets his dusty apron hang over his dusty jeans. He's worked here at Abernathy Bakery since he was 16. Two weeks before he gave Mitch notice he was planning to leave.

He doesn't need to ask himself why he's scared to go. Of course he's scared to go. At least here he had job security, worked the same hours, got the same pay check, and tips were always plentiful. That old familiar feeling of security wasn't there to protect him anymore. Now, after a year of making excuses, he's finally out of them.

What did he know about running his own business? Finnick simply shrugged when that excuse first came out of Peeta's mouth and told him not to over think it.

What about money? It wasn't exactly a home run, Finnick did pretty well and would easily be able to support them both in the meantime.

He could go on with if's and but's, but at the end of the day, Peeta knew it was for the best. He'd have to take that terrifying plunge and hope he wouldn't sink. He thinks he's too young to do this, that he doesn't have enough life experience or enough of an education to not only open up his own bakery, but to keep it running and make it successful. He knows he's screwed.

That's when he'll remember the smile on Finnick's face when he told him what his dream was, and Finnick told him how to accomplish it. That's what Peeta needs to get past the fear and doubt that lurk behind every positive thought he has about this next venture in his life. If it doesn't work and he fails, he will have the people that love him, and he knows he can rely on them.

Suddenly, things don't seem that uncertain and frightening anymore.

It's moments of clarity like that which force Peeta to evaluate the past. It may seem unhealthy to scrutinize every wrong decision, every mistake, every regret. The past is the past and it can't be changed. Despite the things he regrets and the bad decisions he may have made, they help form the man he is now, and he's happy with his life and where he is. He has potential to accomplish what he wants to and he knows he won't give up until he has. He has a skill and many talents, his culinary skills are beyond proficient. He has family that loves him, and he has Finnick who always appreciates him, who is always happy to see him arrive home and hold him tight as they fall asleep as if he's afraid that after all this time, Peeta will somehow escape his grasp.

He smiles to himself and drums his fingers across the wooden table before rising from his seat and switching off the lights. He can't wait to get home and see Finnick and tell him about his day, but more importantly, how excited he is to start the new chapter of his life and how content he is knowing that time would move them both on.

* * *

**To those of you kind enough to leave me reviews, let me just say that I never took your feedback for granted. I really appreciated every kind word, especially from those of you kind enough to review each chapter as you read. This ending was for you guys. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing and completing this story. Thanks for reading. **

**- DundieAllStar.**


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